


Singing Stone

by FeoplePeel



Series: Champion's Coffer [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoption, Advisor Marian Hawke, Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Inquisitor Bethany Hawke, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Questionable Powers, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Sight is the ability to see things as they really are and it can, like all magics, be a bit unpredictable. But as the Hawke-Tethras family crest boldly proclaims: where's the fun in predictability? Still, not even one with the gift could have foreseen the giant rift in the sky, or where it would take her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Champion’s Coffer, so the world’s not in the state it was in by DA2. The timeline and a few events have been messed with, including Anders who has a much more active role with the mage rebellion as less people are out for his blood. As this is told from Islen’s perspective you won’t see a lot of _those_ elements of the Inquisition but I hope you enjoy, nevertheless!
> 
> Also I’m playing it fast and loose with the Elven language here as there’s not really a definitive resource yet :sigh: Forgive any inconsistencies.

“The Talking Mabari _chomped_ the dragon's ankle! Icc...ill...eliciting...a yelp.” Islen held the page close to her face, one eye on the scrawled lines, the other on her captive audience. On the floor across from her, Sarge watched, one paw atop the other. She showed him the blank pages. "Papa hasn't written the rest but I can tell you what I remember from bedtime."

Sarge huffed. Islen nodded, picking her papers back up and pretending to read with gusto.

“The dragon cried because it hurt _so_ much. This is why you should have not taken my sister's war paint! The Talking Mabari barked.” She pointed and, on cue, Sarge _woofed_. “I only took it because, for dragons, that...is what makes our fire breath not hurt! I had a sore tummy, er, throat, _all_ day until I ate the paint! Now I feel better. I'm sorry. The dragon said.”

Islen set the papers down. “I don’t know the end of the story,” she explained, scooting closer and wrapping her arms around his neck, "but I think you'd forgive him."

Sarge grumbled low in his throat.

“That's not nice, you have to share.” She scolded. “That's a rule.”

Islen looked up from his nape, a song ringing in her ears. “Someone’s at the door, Sarge.”

Sarge sat on his haunches, dragging her with him and ears pointed towards the door. Papa had brought them to the Hanged Man for dinner after her playtime at the Alienage. She knew it wasn’t him outside; it wasn’t the right sounds. More off putting, the song wasn’t any she had heard in Kirkwall.

“Does it smell wrong, boy?” She whispered.

A knock sounded. She heard voices outside and pressed her ear to the door to listen more closely. She thought it might be Papa, but the music was overpowering, like the Chantry bells at mealtime. After a few moments, the voices died down and, after a few more, the song did too.

Islen fell forward as the door she leaned against opened. Her father caught her by the arm and swung her up with a great breath of escaped air.

“Were you spying, Islen?” She giggled as he placed her back down.

“Yes.” She admitted, ruefully. “But I didn’t hear anything. Who was at the door?”

“No one important.” He lied. She could tell he was lying because he wasn’t talking enough. Papa _loved_ to talk. “Open the window, I brought up fish stew.”

“Okay!” Islen smiled. She ran to the window, throwing open the shutters.

Below her, stood a dark-haired woman with a greatsword on her hip. She wore armour like the women in Islen’s picture books and, in the lantern light from the Hanged Man, when her face turned upward towards the window, Islen saw a deep scar etched into her cheek. She blushed, ducking back into the room.

 _It’s **her**._ She thought, sliding down against the wall and covering her face.

“Islen?” Varric paused in spreading out their dinner. “What’s wrong?”

“Ssh!” She ran over, covering his hand with her own. “She might hear you!”

“Who?”

“There’s a woman outside!” She whispered, pulling away and sliding into a seat at the table. “She looks _just like_ the lady from your books.”

He laughed. “Sweetheart, I think you’re old enough to know by now, I usually write about your mother.”

“Oh.” Islen felt her nose wrinkle as she remembered some of the stories. “But Mama’s boring. All she does is talk to people!”

“Please don’t tell her that when she gets back.” Varric snorted, placing a bowl and a piece of bread in front of her. “Your mama has a very delicate ego.”

“What’s an ego?”

“How you feel about yourself...sort of. It’s a,” she dipped her bread into the red liquid and watched his face twist, then drop, “concept.”

“It’s okay, Papa. Mama says you don’t know everything.” She reached over to pat his hand.

He lifted a shoulder. “She’s not _wrong_.”

“When is she coming home?”

He grinned at her, eyebrow raised. “I thought she was _boring_?”

Islen blushed, taking a bite of her soggy bread and talking through the spice. “Sarge misses her.”

“I see.” He nodded, leaning back in his chair to address the mabari. “Well, _Sarge_ , don’t worry. She’ll be back soon.”

Sarge barked.

* * *

“Aneth ara, Ghilani Merrill!” Islen bounced into the hut, holding the door open for Sarge to trot in behind her. She scowled when no response came, walking around the corner of the wall to the woman’s sparse lodgings. Empty, as the rest of the place seemed.

Looking around herself again, Islen examined the large mirror beside the bed, split up the middle, spotty and faded. She made faces in the places where chunks were not missing. Merrill had a special name for it and Mama had called it a magic mirror but she knew that was a lie. Islen could hear magic in anything and this was silent, even when she _really_ listened for it.

But maybe if she _touched_ it.

“Ah, ah ah!” Long arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her up. “Islen, you know we don’t do that without _supervision_!”

She scowled up into the wide, concerned eyes of her Aunt Merrill. “Ghilani, you’re late.”

“I’m sorry! Serah Derin was talking my ear off and she’s getting so old and I knew you were waiting!” Merrill set her down gently, turning her by her shoulders. “Oh, Varric’s going to be so upset with me. Were you alone very long?”

“Not really.” Islen blinked, trying to keep up with the stream of words. “Sarge was here.” She pointed to the corner where the mabari was, indeed, fast asleep.

She had told Papa she could walk through the Alienage all by herself. She was _six_ , after all, and knew nearly every letter now! But he had still walked with her to the Vhenadahl, and made Sarge stay with her after.

“Oh, praise the Creators.” Merrill smiled, looking a little relieved.

Islen smiled back. “Aneth ara, Ghilani Merrill.” She repeated her earlier greeting, hoping for a better response this time.

Merrill straightened, inclining her head slightly. “Aneth ara, ma’da’ean.”

“I heard a song yesterday, ” She told her, moving towards the table in the main room. “I tried to block it out, but it didn’t work.”

Merrill sat down across from her, neck craned in a show of interest. “Did you do your breaths?”

“I don’t think so.” Islen tried to remember. She knew it had been hard to concentrate, at the time. She shook her head. “It was different than anything I’ve heard before.”

“It wasn’t a templar?” Islen shook her head. “Well, the veil is very thin here. It was probably a spirit.” She ran a hand over Islen’s head, patting her hair down. “You’ve heard those. It may have been one you’ve not run into.”

Islen nodded politely because she liked her Aunt Merrill and, at least so far in their lessons, knew her as someone who didn’t like to be corrected. This hadn’t been a spirit. Islen knew spirits. She heard them in the Fade every night. Besides, Aunt Merrill told Mama _everything_ and Mama wouldn’t like it if she talked to spirits who weren’t Justice without telling her. It was better if she kept quiet for now.

“Did you do your reading?” Islen nodded. “Do you have any questions?”

Luckily, Islen felt, she always had questions. They were studying the Grey Wardens this week and her first was, _Did they really ride Griffons?_

Merrill couldn’t answer everything, but she seemed very excited to try.

After a while, she summoned a green light and held it in front of Islen’s face. “Legs crossed.” Islen obeyed, pulling her legs up into the chair and focusing on the globe. “Deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth. If you hear something you can’t block again, try to remember exactly how calm you feel right now.”

She loved this part, getting to go into the magic. She didn’t really, but that’s what it felt like, absorbing the sounds of the light around her. First Sight is what Aunt Merrill called it. Uncle Fenris called it bad words she wasn’t allowed to repeat. It was the feeling of opening up your mind and letting the songs from the Fade, the Spirits, all the noisy bits come into your head to find out what they were trying to tell you.

Sometimes the lights were too bright, there were songs she _shouldn’t_ hear. They could hurt her. That’s what the lessons were for.

She only blinked awake when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Papa stood above her, looking a little curiously between her and the fading green light. Sometime during her lesson, Orana had come in and was sit across from her, mixing something sticky and grey.

“Daisy,” Papa nodded at Merrill. “How’s my favorite critic?”

“I’m good.” Islen jumped up, clinging to his arm. “Are we going to your office for dinner again?”

“Not this time, kid.” Varric smiled, lifting her and putting her on his shoulders. “We have someone waiting for us at home.”

“Oh!” Merrill’s hands flew up to cover her face.

“What?” Islen’s brows drew together.

“Nothing.” Varric made a face at Merrill over her head and Islen stuck out her bottom lip. “Eh, stop that.” He pressed in on her lip and she giggled. “Say goodnight to Daisy and Orana. Oh, and thank you.” He added as an afterthought.

“Thanks, Aunt Merrill! Bye Aunt Orana! Ma'arlath, bye!”

“Dareth shiral, da’len!” Merrill blew her a kiss. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Islen heard her mother before she saw her, jerking out of Varric’s arms to get to the floor and racing into the main hall.

“Mama!” She barrelled into her legs, arms wrapped firmly around her knees.

“My pip!” Islen squealed loudly as she felt herself lifted into the air and peppered with kisses. “Oh I missed you so much! Tantervale was incredibly _dull_! Come here!”

She breathed in, the smell of blackberries and leather. After a long hug, she pulled back. Only when her feet hit the floor did Islen notice the two people occupying the seats in their living room. To her left, a red haired woman with a kind smile and sharp eyes and, to the right…

She gasped, immediately tucking behind her mother’s knees and peeking around to look at the scarred woman from the night before.

The sound of bells and high singing came back in slow stages and Islen pressed her lips together. She thought of Merrill’s green light and breathed even.

“Islen?” Mama looked down, brow wrinkly. Islen nodded, stepping out a little. She felt a hand on her back. “This is Sister Leliana and Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“Hello,” The woman on the left, Leliana, greeted pleasantly.

“H-hello.” Islen rocked on her heels.

“This is my daughter, Islen.”

“I had heard rumors, but I had not thought,” Cassandra blinked, “I mean with your lifestyle. The grand tales of your battles,”

“All true, I’m afraid,” Papa leaned against the doorframe watching them with a careful eye, “ _well_ mostly true. What did I miss?”

“ _You_.” Cassandra pointed, face reddening.

“Oh.” She felt her mother take a breath. She pulled a face that Islen took to mean Papa had done something silly. “You two know each other. That’s always a good sign.”

“This, _this_ ,”

“Careful,” Mama’s voice had an edge.

“Dwarf gave us faulty directions!”

“To my wife’s house.” Papa shrugged. “I think I had the right.”

Cassandra scoffed. Islen didn't think it was a very...nice sound. "I didn’t know she was your wife!”

Papa shook his head. Islen could tell he was making fun of her. “You _speciest_.”

Leliana smiled very prettily. “Our poor luck asking the one person in town to steer us wrong.”

“You were asking in Lowtown, wearing _that_.” Papa pointed to Cassandra’s armour. There was a big, white eye looking down at Islen that was a bit scary when she kept looking at it. She turned her face back to the fabric of her mother’s breeches. “No one was going to tell you a word about Hawke.”

“Varric,” Mama bent, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose and turning her towards Papa, “snack.”

“Apples, please!” Islen shrieked, running into the other room.

“Oh, listen to that a please.” She heard Papa follow her into the kitchen.

* * *

“You pointed at her eyeball.” Islen kicked her feet against the counter. “What does it mean?”

“It’s called a heraldry.” He hollowed out an apple core, removing the seeds and tossing it towards Sarge. “It lets you know what house someone belongs to. Whose side they’re on.”

Islen thought about the shield above the door to their home. The etching on Mama’s ring. Heraldry. She committed the word to memory.

“That’s a Seeker of Truth. Keepers of the Templar.”

“Her song is strange.” Islen confessed slowly.

Papa lowered the knife in his hand. “Strange how?” Islen shrugged. Papa grunted. “Islen. Strange _how_?”

“It makes my head feel funny.” She whined, not knowing how else to explain it. It made a sort of sense, in her head. Templars could feel out magic. Used the lyrium to project themselves, make it intrude on everything. Maybe that’s what the woman did. “It’s more like...a spirit. Is she like Nana?"

"I doubt it. But then,” Papa handed her an apple slice, “how would we know? Don’t try to...really see her, okay?"

She nodded solemnly. Papa washed his hands and, after a few moments of toe-tapping, went to stand by the door. Islen finished her apple quietly before jumping from the counter and slinking towards him.

She could hear the voices more clearly through the crack her father was looking through. A shadow fell over her and she looked up. Above her, he held a finger to his mouth and winked. She pressed herself into his side. Mama was talking, but she sounded tired.

“Justinia? That’s...big.”

“She is a just woman, Champion.” Leliana reassured. “She wishes to resolve this as peacefully as I’m sure you do. If you come to speak at the Conclave, she hopes it will be a boon in settling matters.”

Islen heard Mama sigh. “Tell me I wasn’t her first pick.”

“The Divine is...interested in you.” Leliana confessed. “Apostates and supposed radicals have been helping Circles rise up and rebel across Thedas. She suspects it started here.” Papa took in a sharp breath and Islen spared a glance upward. “She believes you had a hand in this Circle’s collapse.”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

Cassandra coughed. “There were events beyond Kirkwall, within the Chantry itself, that have more recently come to Her Most Holy’s attention. The...accusation may not be so serious as it once was.”

They were silent for a long time and Islen thought Papa might make the leave. Then Cassandra spoke again.

“I do believe you can do something. And I believe you care enough to try. Please consider it, Champion.” Cassandra's voice was calm and Islen liked her accent. “You could be a powerful voice for peace. There are people we trust who think highly of you. Orsino, at the White Spire has requested you to aid our cause, personally. Cullen Rutherford speaks...respectfully of you, at least. And you showed great political skill in your handling of the Starkhaven situation.”

“Starkhaven?” She heard her mother’s voice rise in disbelief. “This is about _Starkhaven_? The only reason I went to that pretentious city was because the Seneschal asked, nay, _begged_ me.”

“The reasoning has no bearing on the outcome.” Leliana chuckled. “Which was successful.”

“I’m _tired_ of politics.” Mama’s laugh sounded strained. “I...appreciate the lauds but I can’t _leave_.” Her voice dropped. Islen couldn’t make out the rest of her sentence, but Papa squeezed her shoulders a little roughly.

“Bring her with you, there is room in Orlais for one more little girl, I think.” Leliana’s voice was _too_ high and Islen screwed up her nose at the sound. “She may find she has long lost relatives she wishes to reconnect with.”

“Sorry. My family never made it out that far West.” Mama’s tone was hard, but dim in the background of Islen’s thoughts.

_Mama would leave again._

_It’s okay, she’s always leaving._

_Probably she likes them better than you._

Oh no, she was missing the spying!

“Apologies.” There was a long pause. Then Leliana spoke. “I remember your sister and mother in Lothering.”

“Bethany talked about you. I, well, the Chantry was never my favorite spot.”

“Bethany was a very kind child. I’m sorry she was ever brought to this terrible place. What happened to Lothering…”

“That’s enough, I think.” Papa squeezed her shoulder again and turned her away.

* * *

“Time for bed, pip.” Islen felt herself lifted from the carpet in front of the fire.

Six was too old to be carried up the steps, was what she wanted to say, but her whole body was tired. She burrowed happily into Mama’s neck, warm and soft, and all that came out was a weak, “I’m hungry.”

She felt Mama’s chest rumble with a laugh. “You had two snacks.”

“Well, I’m not sleepy.” She yawned and Mama’s head moved against hers in a nod.

Mama sat Islen in the wood tub, filled with warm water and lemon shavings, and told her to wash behind her ears with the cloth. She asked Mama about the Sister and the Seeker and her parents looked at each other like there was something they weren’t supposed to talk about, so Islen filled the silence herself.

She told Mama all about her magic lessons and the new notes she had learned with Orana. The letters Uncle Fenris taught her and the cat Papa wouldn’t let her keep inside the house because it made him sneeze. She said she still thought that Cassandra was the warrior from Papa’s books and Papa’s face twisted like he had eaten something rotten.

Mama laughed and kissed him. Islen sighed. They always kissed more when Mama went away and came back. It was gross.

She sighed louder, thinking maybe they hadn’t heard her.

“I think Islen’s done with her bath.” Papa snorted.

“No,” she clung to the side of the tub, “five more minutes!”

“Too late!” Mama pulled her up and out, tickling her until she squealed.

“All right, enough of that.” Papa threw a towel over them. It covered Islen’s face and she blew air until the heat from her breath spread over her cheeks. “You’re birds, not fish. I’m the one who has to tuck her in.”

“Story!” She shot up, legs spread around her mother’s chest and feet sliding a little on the stones. Regaining her balance, she ran down the hall in the direction of her room.

“Islen! Put some clothes on!”

* * *

Papa told her the end of the Talking Mabari story that night. It didn’t end how she thought but her thoughts were elsewhere, the details already muddied moments after the telling.

“You look disappointed.” His mouth quirked and he leaned over to fluff up her pillow.

“Is Mama leaving again?

Papa stopped and swallowed. “Why do you ask that?”

Islen shrugged. “It’s only,” she quieted, “she just got back.”

Papa sighed, leaning back in the chair beside her bed and running a hand through his hair in a way that meant he was worried about something. “Do you remember the story about the Circle?” He asked. “The one we’re not supposed to tell anyone?”

Islen nodded. She remembered it because it was a _true_ story. It was about Uncle Anders and Justice, really, and how Mama and Papa helped him escape, back when there was Templars and a Circle.

She was half of six when it happened but sometimes she thinks she can picture it. Papa says that brains are funny and one day she might.

“Do you remember why we did that?”

Islen thought. “They were...hurting people?”

Papa nodded and Islen smiled widely. “There are a lot of...big things going on that your mom can help move along. She doesn’t want to leave you but if she does, it isn’t because she thinks it’s more important than you,” he pushed a piece of hair out of her face, “it’s only because there are more people being hurt that need her help.”

Islen squared her chin and nodded. “I understand.”

“Are you sure?” Papa blinked. “I had a very nice hug prepared in case you didn’t.”

She crawled forward to hug him around the middle. “I don’t want Mama to go again.” She admitted in a whisper. “But she’s a Champion!”

She felt a hand rest on her head. “Yeah.”

* * *

Islen wiped the sleep from her eyes and reached for her water jar.

Empty.

She crawled out of bed and tip toed past Sarge. The mabari raised his his head and she lifted her water glass in explanation. He huffed and, with a stretch, reluctantly raised on his haunches to follow her.

There was a hall pitcher outside her parents room. She could hear Mama and Papa talking in low voices from their room.

“The Sister was nice but that Seeker,”

Mama interrupted with a laugh. “I liked her, she’s...forward.”

“I don’t trust her around Islen.”

A pause.

“What do you think I should do?"

“It’s up to you, Marian.” She knew that was the name Aunt Bethany sometimes called Mama in her letters or Papa did when he had to say sorry. “But you know us. We’re with you, all the way.”

“Who’s this _we_ , huh?” She heard Mama too close to the door and backed up, carefully balancing her glass. It was a while before anyone spoke and Sarge laid down with a yawn. Islen crouched beside him. “Do they even know why I have so much clout in the first place? I don’t _do_ anything.”

“You don’t do anything. Uh-huh.”

“I’m a figurehead! I show up, people know not to start anything in Kirkwall.”

“What do you think politics _is_ , sweetheart?”

“I don’t know...what you do? With the letters and the,” she sputtered, “ _you’re_ the one who said it’d be a good idea to go to Starkhaven and now I’ve got Chantry shits breathing down my neck!”

“Hey, watch it, blasphemer.” Papa chuckled.

“Yeah, I think I might be taken care of in that department, thanks.”

“And what I _said_ was the Seneschal might stop bothering you about parades through Hightown if you do him a favor. Don’t pin this on me, lady. You were dead set on helping Choir Boy the second Juneth introduced the two of you.”

She heard Mama whine. “He just seemed so… _pathetic_. And better there than where Elthina could keep an eye on him.” Islen leaned forward to watch Mama turn from the balcony and point almost accusingly, at Varric. “I don’t care what you say, she’s _slippery_ and I don’t trust her.”

Papa shrugged. “You make friends with a city, everyone else is going to see political maneuvering.”

Mama blew air through her lips. “Bran wants to make nice with that Chantry-boy turned Prince, more power to him. The song remains the same. I just want to take care of my people _here_. Why does the _Divine_ care about that?”

Papa was quiet for a long time. “You heard her goons, they _know_ what happened here, or at least enough to run us out of town without asking so nicely. Something's wrong inside the Chantry,"

Mama scoffed. "We've known that, so?"

" _So_ they might need someone on the outside to speak for her. Someone a little more ‘leave us alone’, a little less ‘everyone come together’?”

“You think? That doesn’t sound very...Andraste be praised to me.”

“No, it sounds human. Think about it. You stay at the top long enough you get to see how _all_ of it works, not just our little part of the Free Marches. Maybe they need people who are a bit...non traditional.”

Mama made her way to the bed and Islen quickly inched back, water sloshing over the rim of her glass and onto the floor. “I’ll need to write to Anders before I decide anything.”

“Hey, for all we know Blondie heard about this months ago.”

“You’re telling me.” Islen heard a sound from inside the room and, although she hardly recognized it, seemed to know at once that her mother was crying.

Islen blinked. Papa cried, though it was often because he was happy or something exciting had just happened. She had only seen Mama cry twice. Once, when Aunt Isabela had sailed into Wycome with Uncle Anders as a surprise birthday present and twice...Islen didn’t like to remember the second time. She heard a sound that meant _more_ kissing and was glad she had backed away.

“Talk to me, Chuckles.”

“I know I might have to,” Islen heard Mama hiccup, “but I can’t leave her again. I can’t do that to her. She’s remembering things now.”

They were talking about her.

Islen wiped up the water in the hall with the edge if her nightgown and slowly stood, backing away from the door.

Sarge fell in a heap in the middle of her room, seemingly unaware of all that had transpired. She set her water glass next to his head and curled up in his stomach. “Mama doesn’t want to leave, but she might have to again.”

Sarge snuffed into her hair.

“We have to be happy now, okay?” Islen wrapped her arms around his neck.

* * *

Islen didn't hear about the strange women for days. She went to her lessons and saw baby Wesley. Uncle Donnic said she could hold him but he looked a bit like a turnip and drooled on everything so she, politely, refused. Mama and Papa seemed to like holding him so she guessed it was a grown-up thing.

Uncle Fenris came back from Nevara and gifted her a sack she could tie to her back. She immediately put her favorite stuffed toy, Holy Poly Dragon, half a sandwich, and a handful of sweets that he never kept hidden well enough, inside. This got her into trouble later, when she forgot about the sandwich, and the sweets melted to Holy Poly Dragon’s face.

After Fenris had thrown out the rotten sandwich and stopped her crying, he let her sit next to him as he rubbed ice onto her dragon’s face.

Islen sighed, still upset about the whole mess. “Are you going to tell Mama?”

“No.” Fenris continued scrubbing. Islen leaned forward to hug his arm. “ _You’re_ going to tell your mother because you are a good, responsible little girl.”

Islen leaned back with a severe pout. “I’m not little. I’m six.” She kicked the counter with her heel.

Fenris released a long breath. He looked a little sad. “You can’t be that old already.”

“I am!” She raised her fingers as if to prove her claim.

“Isabela’s going to be angry that you’ve gotten so big while she’s been away.”

_She should stop going away, then._

This last part she kept to herself. Second thoughts, her mother had taught her, were often better left in her head.

He managed to remove most of the gunk from Holy Poly Dragon and Mama didn’t seem angry at all. In fact, she said Orana might be able to help, and covered her mouth in the way that meant she wanted to laugh even though she wasn’t supposed to.

Sometimes Mama would let Islen walk along the flower beds outside of the Merchant’s Guild in Hightown or in front of some of the bigger doors with crests she didn’t recognize ( _heraldry_ , she remembered). Islen suspected Mama didn’t like the people who lived in those houses very much either. For now, though, Mama held her hand and led her down the path home.

“Did you enjoy spending time with Fenris?”

Islen nodded. “We wrote a letter to Aunt Isabela. She’s in the,” Islen struggled for a moment, “Waking Sea.”

Mama pulled a face. “Hm.”

“It’s okay, Mama.” Islen squeezed her hand. “Fenris doesn’t like the water either.”

“Ah, well, it’s not for everyone.” Mama chuckled, bending to kiss the back of her hand. “She’ll be glad you like it.”

“It’s all right.” Islen lifted a shoulder. She liked her play boats and adventure books, she supposed. She’d been on real boats at the docks but they made her tummy hurt. And they smelled. She didn’t think the docks were a _proper_ sea like what Isabela talked about.

“Oh, you love the ocean!” Mama spoke like she was smiling but Islen couldn’t see that far up. “We took you two namedays ago.”

Islen counted on her hands. “How many?” She held up her fingers. Mama pushed one down.

“That’s four.” She explained. Islen nodded. “We’ll just have to take you again when she gets back in town.”

“Does that mean you’re not leaving?”

Mama removed her hand and drew it through the strands of her hair. “It would make you sad if I had to go again, huh?” She asked gently.

Islen nodded. “But it’s okay. You have to help because people are hurt.”

Mama hesitated then resumed stroking her head. “Is that what Papa told you?” Islen smiled. The hand in her hair moved to her back and her mother gathered her up in her arms, face pressed tightly to her shoulder. “That’s what you think I do?”

Islen nodded, hands gripped into the fabric of Mama’s tunic.

“You’re my good girl, Islen.”

“I know.” Islen laughed and let Mama carry her the rest of the way home.

* * *

It had been so many days and she had almost forgotten about her family's strange visitors entirely. One morning she brought down her her letters pad to practice before breakfast. Papa was staring at the table where he kept the maps. Islen froze on the steps.

“Kirkwall’s closer.” He looked up when Mama appeared at his elbow, offering him a cup of something hot.

“So’s Jader but who do we know there?” He shook his head, stared at the paper again. Mama grumbled something into the cup. “If you have a better idea be my guest, Hawke. Fenris’ll be gone again in no time. Merrill’s between here and Ostwick every other week and Orana’s around sick people all the time. We can’t ask Aveline to help on top of guard duty _and_ a newborn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “ _Val Royeaux_ is safe and Isabela can dock you and Islen there.”

“ _Orlais_ is in the middle of a Civil War.”

“Well,” Papa winced, “details.”

Islen’s hands tightened around her papers in excitement. Was she was going on a trip with Aunt Isabela? She watched them scrutinize the map together. Occasionally Papa would mark something or make a note. She was certain they were talking about going away, but she wasn’t sure what they meant.

Mama set the cup down, biting her thumbnail. “ _If_ we’re doing this, Isabela’s _your_ ride.” She pointed at the map. “I’ll take Islen down the Imperial Highway.”

Islen leaned forward. Wasn’t Papa going with them?

“Just...come to the city with us.” Mama crossed her arms. “I know I teased but I’m pretty sure the Seeker wanted _me_.”

"They just want to know you’ll play their game.” He shrugged. “And the last time I checked I’m still not allowed a hundred feet around Bianca.”

Mama breathed hard through her nose. “Bleeding Guild.”

“It’s just for a few weeks,”

“Maybe for us, but how long for Islen?”

Islen sat hard on the step. The motion drew her parents attention.

"Hey!" Mama said, too cheerful.

"I wanna go with Papa.”

Her parents paused and looked at one another in mild panic.

“I _said_ I _want_ ,”

“Islen,” Mama scolded, “that is _not_ how you ask for something.”

Islen looked between them, Papa still disbelieving, Mama mad, opened her mouth and cried.

* * *

None of the grown-ups had said anything about Papa leaving.

He came upstairs to make her feel better after dinner. “You’re going to go see Aunt Bethany and Aunt Bianca for a little while. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

It didn’t sound fun. It sounded _stupid_ and she said so.

Papa sighed. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do! Mama’s stupid, too.”

“Islen, now you’re being mean.” Papa’s voice hardened “I know you’re upset but you shouldn’t say something like that.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, “please don’t be mad at me. I’ll just miss you.”

Papa was quiet for a while. Then he lifted an arm to hug her. “I’m not mad. I’m going to miss you too, sweetheart.”

Eventually she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

“Isabela on her way?” Mama put a plate down in front of Islen.

“Can’t do it. She’s pretty settled with the Raiders.” Papa clucked, smiling and leaning over to ruffle her hair. “She set me up with a friend, though, _and_ promises to meet us once whatever campaign they’re on finishes.”

“That’s too bad.” Mama sat down across from them, eyes on her own food. “Seems like things are happening everywhere, now.”

“It’ll settle.” Papa shrugged. “Eventually.”

Islen moved the mash around her plate sullenly.

* * *

“Is Sarge going with Papa or coming with us?” Islen toed the ground inside the door to her parents’ room. Her mother paused, sharp glove in one hand, soiled rag hanging loose from the other. She set the two items aside and stood with a grunt.

“I was going to let him stay with Aveline.” Mama rubbed the back of her neck. “Did you...want him to come with us?”

“Well,” Islen thought about this, “Wesley’s there and he likes looking after kids. And he’s pretty old. He probably doesn’t want to go anywhere.”

“That’s very considerate, Islen.”

Islen nodded and stepped back out of the room.

“Islen,” she turned when Mama called her, “I’m sorry if any of this is hard to understand or,” she swallowed, “I know you’re upset. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

“Oh, good.” Mama smiled and picked her glove back up from the floor.

* * *

Islen’s plan to hide in Papa’s bags didn’t work. Mama wasn’t angry with her, she just seemed sad. Islen thought she might not want to visit Aunt Bethany either, but no matter how she whined, they set off early the next week, one tired mother and a red-eyed child.

* * *

“Not here?”

Bianca was working on something, her tongue sticking out in a funny way. She had to pull it back in to speak. “Yeah, Bethany left days ago. Some meeting happening with the mages and templars she wanted to see.”

Mama’s hand dropped from Islen’s to slam on the table. “And you just _let_ her leave?”

“I’m not her keeper, Hawke!” Bianca finally looked up from her worktable. She took a shocked breath when her eyes landed on Islen.

“‘llo, Bianca! ‘llo, Sandal!”

The trip from home to the town where Bethany and Bianca lived hadn’t been very long. She wasn’t mad at Mama anymore, who really was a very good Mama, but she did miss Papa terribly.

“Baby!” Sandal’s wave matched her own in enthusiasm. Sandal was the only dwarf Islen had met who sounded like a mage. Aunt Bianca said that was why she kept him around.

“Islen,” Bianca lowered the wrench in her hand, still staring at her in disbelief. Her eyes flicked to Mama. “What’s wrong?”

Islen looked up to see her Mama answer, but no sound came. A loud ringing filled Islen’s ears and, beyond that...

_Green and black and and the hum of the Fade. There was a song she had never heard before but it wasn’t off-putting or frightening, like the Seeker’s. This was like laughing, like someone calling her. She followed it._

“Islen?” The vision cleared and she smiled at her mother. “Islen!”

* * *

“Called it a _breach_ , Messere. They say it’s been open for days.” Islen heard a voice she did not recognize

“I can’t wait here anymore, Bodahn.” She heard her mother’s voice, felt a cool hand on her forehead. “Unhitch the cart, I’ll take her myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Islen’s powers are cribbed from Terry Pratchett and Second Thoughts were something I used in Champion’s Coffer. I always loved the idea of Hawke not really being a mage, but having enough magic in her to have ‘second thoughts’--a perspective outside of herself that lets her be the sort of Champion she became.


	2. Chapter 2

Islen woke up to the wind at her back and no idea where she was. It was cold, she could tell that much. The feeling of weightlessness coupled with the occasional snort from behind her told her that she was on the back of a horse.

She was pulled tightly to her mother’s chest, though a quick glance up allowed her no more than a view of her chin.

“You awake down there, pip?” Mama’s voice was strained and a little hard to hear over the wind. She wondered how long they had been riding and asked as much. “Only a few hours, but you’ve been asleep for days. You slept through a whole boat ride!”

“With Aunt Isabela…?” Islen’s throat hurt, her voice scratchy.

“No,” was all Mama said, “go back to sleep. We still have a ways.”

“Where,” Islen swallowed hard, trying to gather spit from her cheeks. Mama pressed a waterskin into her hands and she drank deeply, coughing when it went down the wrong way. A warm hand rubbed her back until she settled. “Where are we going?” She looked around. It was mostly snow with patches of green and brown. “Not Orlais.”

“No, not Orlais. No stinky Orlais with their vintage cheeses and, and their...hair.” Mama laughed above her. It sounded...off. “ _We_ are going to go see Papa! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Oh,” Islen smiled a little. That _was_ good. But, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to go. You told me,”

“I _know_ what I said, Islen.” Mama snapped, then pulled back to smile at her. It was a shaky smile and her eyes were red but it still made Islen feel better. “Get some rest, hm?”

She wrapped her arms around Mama’s middle and turned her back further to the wind. “Yes, Mama.”

* * *

They rode for another two days before they hit Haven. A dwarf with freckles and beautiful green eyes helped them with their horse. “You two look lost. Can I help you out?”

“I’m looking for...Seeker Cassandra Penthagast or Sister Leliana?” Mama looked around them at some of the people passing through the gates. “I came here with a merchant’s envoy from Orlais but we decided to ride ahead to gain some speed.”

“Oh, they’re usually at the Chantry, I can show you the way.”

“Thank you.” Islen wanted to ask why Mama hadn’t asked where Papa was yet but it was so cold, and her chest seized painfully. She took great gulps to fill her lungs as Mama pulled her along.

“I’m Scout Lace Harding, by the way. Everyone calls me Harding.”

“Ever been to Hightown?” Mama laughed, but it sounded wrong again. Islen grabbed her hand a little more tightly.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Harding muttered.

“I’m Marian Hawke.” Mama shook her head. “The attachment is Islen, my daughter.”

“Hello.” Islen jogged forward. “I like your scar.”

“Oh, thank you.” Harding touched her face, a slight red in her cheeks, then stopped. “Wait, Hawke?” She half-turned to face them. “The Champion?”

Mama rolled her eyes. This happened a lot at home. “Are you from Kirkwall?”

“The Hinterlands.” She said, somewhat excited. “But, um, I know your sister. What are you doing all the way in Haven? Here to help the Inquisition?”

“The wha,” Hawke shook her head, “ah, no. Sorry, you said you _know_ Bethany?”

Islen had finally caught her breaths when she heard a familiar laugh from over one of the snowy hills. When she looked up it was like Mama had been frozen, staring over Harding’s head with wide eyes.

Papa rounded the corner, shaking snow off his boots and resting Bianca against a post. The pain Islen had felt before exploded in a burst of warmth.

“Papa!” She squalled, jerking away from Lace and Mama and rushing towards the man. He looked up, bewildered and then delighted, enfolding her in a hug when she reached him. He whispered a stream of words, muffled by her hair and tickling the tip of her ear. She squeezed her eyes tight and her arms tighter, feeling him squeeze back in response.

When she opened her eyes to look over his shoulder, it was to the sight of a familiar face, similar to her mother’s and younger. Islen blinked, mouth working before her mind.

“Aunt Bethany?”

She half-turned to look at Mama, who appeared torn between Papa and her sister, her arms half-raised and held between the two. Bethany made the decision for her, latching onto her around the middle. Something on Mama's face broke and she swung her around like they were dancing.

Islen kissed Papa’s cheek and pushed away to join them, tugging on Bethany’s leg when Mama lowered her to the ground.

“Hi, Aunt Bethany.”

“Islen!” Bethany kneeled down, holding Islen’s face to look at her and peppering her with kisses. Islen giggled. Behind Bethany she could see Papa and Mama approach one another slowly and pressed her face into Bethany’s shoulder, just in case they decided to be gross.

“Did you see the big hole in the sky?” She asked Bethany in a breath.

Mama had told her what she could on their ride. There was a big hole that everyone was talking about and it was probably magic. It made Islen sick, even from far away, which was bad. But that meant she got to come along and that was good!

“Sort of.” Bethany laughed nervously.

“Oh.” Islen felt vaguely let down. Usually her family was in the middle of all of the adventurous stuff.

“I was a little bit...in it.”

“Oh!” She pulled back with a smile. That made more sense.

“Why is Islen here?” She heard Papa ask. They must be done kissing now.

“We didn’t know what happened but Islen got sick. _Really_ sick.”

"Sick? What do you mean sick?"

"It's okay, look, she's fine now." Bethany turned with Islen in her arms. Islen didn’t care about the story. She had heard this part, already. She looked at Papa, holding Mama’s hands. They were shaking. “But it was bad. She wouldn't wake up and... _I panicked_ doesn’t sound very dignified I suppose.” They smiled at one another. “I know I should have stayed with her, where it was safe, but they were talking about an explosion here and if something had happened to _you_ ,"

"Which, as you see, it didn't." He motioned to himself, smile wide. Mama's face was pinched. Islen hoped she hadn't gotten her sick, too. “Hey, it was a good call. I’m just glad you two made it here all right.”

Bethany coughed and two sets of eyes turned to her.

“Bethany,” Mama called them over. Bethany dropped Islen to the snow and let her walk beside her. “Bianca said you went to the Conclave."

“Now, don’t be upset,” Bethany raised her arms and removed one of her gloves. Mama gasped, snatching at the nearest hand.

“What’s this?”

Islen gently extracted herself from between the two women and ran back to her Papa who scooped her up. She blinked at a wash of green light coming from her aunt's hand.

“Your _hand_ is glowing.” Islen gaped.

“Oh. That’s...new." She jerked her hand out of Mama’s and held it out for Islen to inspect. It made the same sound she had heard when the world went dark.

“What is it?” Mama repeated and Islen dragged her eyes away from green and bright white.

“I’ll tell you everything I remember later,” Bethany shot a quick look at Islen that meant there was something she didn’t want to say in front of her. Islen sighed. “But apparently I’m the agent on the ground for this merry band of misfits. Curse of the Hawkes, I suppose.”

“This place is shaping up to be a little more than misfits, Sunshine.” Papa spoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Herald!” Scout Harding, who had been waiting a polite distance away, now interrupted with a cough. “Ah, uhm...Bethany? They’re asking for your report at the Chantry.”

“Right!” Bethany took a steeling breath. “I have to go. Meet me inside?” She began walking backwards. “I hear you’re technically an advisor?”

“I am?” Mama looked to Papa, who held his hands up in surrender. “That’s news to me.”

“You _did_ say you’d help!” Bethany laughed. “Sorry that it’s all a mess! I’ll see you inside!”

“Well she’s _chipper_.”

"Hawke?" Papa sounded concerned. "You need to sit down? Maybe sleep for," he pushed the hair from her face the way he often did for Islen, "a week?"

"No. You’re fine, Bethany's fine, we're all...fine." Mama shook her head, laughing weakly. "She's right, I need to go help but," she walked to a nearby bench and swept some of the snow off, "we should talk, first."

Papa sat next to her pulling Islen up into his lap. "Hit me."

Mama took a deep breath and pulled a face. "Herald?"

* * *

They didn’t talk to her, but at least they didn't make her go away. Both of them kept reaching out and petting her or making sure she was okay. She felt a hand fall on her back and thought she could probably fall asleep like this.

“Did they use that thing on her hand to rope her into this?”

“Who knows what blighted ways that Seeker goes about doing what she does.” Papa's face looked like he had eaten something sour. “ Granted, Sunshine can do some pretty amazing tricks with it.”

Mama ran a hand over her face and Islen hugged her arm. She didn’t understand. She felt better. They found Bethany. Papa was safe. Why was she upset?

“This is all my fault.” Mama let her head fall into her hands. “I should have just come when they called.”

“No offense, Hawke, but your sister’s no slouch. She’s picked up more than a few things living in Orlais.” Papa placed a hand of the back of Mama's head. “I think things worked out this way for a reason.”

“Of course you do, you’re a writer.” Mama laughed and Islen was happy to see she looked relieved when her face lifted. “Well, let’s write to Bianca and let her know we’re all alive, at least.”

* * *

Mama and Papa let her go inside to meet Bethany first. Probably they wanted to talk about her where she couldn't hear but she didn't mind. There were fires inside and the smell of meat and low, soft singing.

Bethany stood at the end of the hall with a group of people, some of whom were familiar to Islen. Bethany ran behind her placing a hand on her back to push her forward a little. “This is Islen, my niece. I hear you've already met Cassandra and Leliana.”

She waved. “Hello.”

Leliana waved back and Cassandra looked at her, amused. There were two others, a kind-looking woman in bright gold and the only man among them, who wore a fluffy cape that looked very warm. The man was a templar. Islen could hear it though the song sounded...broken. When she used her First Sight, the smooth rivers of light that went through every templar cut off into jagged lightning patterns. She quickly blinked the image away.

“This is Commander Cullen Rutherford and Josephine Montilyet."

Cullen laughed nervously. "You, um, probably don’t remember me."

Islen shook her head. The gold lady giggled into her hand. It was a pretty sound.

To Islen’s astonishment, the man actually _winked_ at her. “That may be for the best.” He raised his eyes and made a choking sound. “Champion.”

“Knight-Captain Cullen!” Islen could hear Mama behind her and turned to see her walking down the hall, a gleeful expression spread across her face. “Or, I’m sorry, is it Commander, now?”

“I have parted ways with the Order, if that’s your implied question.” Mama walked until she stood very close to Cullen and he stood a bit straighter, hands behind his back. Islen thought it looked uncomfortable.

“Marian, ” Bethany started, clearly warning, “Cullen was at the Breach with us. He helped.”

“Yes, Varric said.” Islen wrapped her arms around the back of Bethany’s legs. She couldn’t see Mama’s face from her position, but she didn’t sound _happy_ , exactly. “Thanks.”

“She was more help to me.” Cullen admitted. “Especially upon my shock at seeing her there.”

“Hawke family motto.” Mama snorted. “Where there’s trouble,”

“Be in the middle of it?”

Mama threw her head back, laughing. “Something like that.” Islen ran from Bethany’s legs to press herself to her mother’s. Mama’s eyes fell on her and she cupped the back of her head, rubbing an ear with her thumb. Islen thought Cullen looked a bit relieved when Mama glanced away. “My sister tells me I have an official title?”

“As you can see, the Conclave,” Cassandra looked uncomfortable, “well.”

“Sorry about Justinia.” Mama nodded.

“You have my gratitude.”

“You have had a long journey and I’m afraid we can’t afford you sleep just yet.” Leliana said. “There will be time for condolences, later.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Come,” Josephine inclined her head towards a large set of doors. “Serah Tethras may have filled you in on the basics, but we’ve an entire book on the subject.”

“Oh?” Mama scratched behind her own ear and Islen giggled. Mama liked to buy books more than she liked to read them.

“And in the meantime we can get to know one another better.”

“Well, I do love new friends.” Mama smiled, nodding towards the opposite end of the hall. “Papa’s outside, Islen.”

Saluting smartly, Islen detached herself and took a few steps towards the door. Then, thinking better of it, turned back.

“It was very nice to meet you.” She said in a breath and, without waiting for a response, turned to run down the hall.

* * *

Islen decided that Haven was her third favorite place after Kirkwall and her room. It was small and snow was everywhere and Papa said that she would get to to share a room with him and Mama. He took her to the tavern to eat, then showed her the training yard and the horse stables and the market stalls. Bodahn and Sandal weren’t there yet, but she met a lot more people who told her she was pretty and that her Papa was very nice. After the third time Islen said, ‘I know’, Papa gently corrected her to simply thank them, even though she insisted she _did_ know both of these things.

Adults were complicated.

They were staying in a room of someone’s house and Islen found that she would have a _real_ bed. It wasn’t as nice as her bed, but it smelled like hay and when she jumped on it, it bounced her a bit. Eventually Mama came back and told her it was time to tuck in and that she wouldn’t have to bathe until tomorrow.

When she bent over to kiss her goodnight, Islen saw that Mama looked even more tired than that morning, but she seemed a little happier around her eyes. She landed face first on on her and Papa’s bed and Islen hoped it had as much bounce as her own.

Across the room, Papa made a curious noise. He was sorting the things Mama had grabbed from the cart to put in Islen’s bag and stopped, turning around with a bracelet in his hand.

“You know this is useless without another one, right?” He asked Mama.

She turned, lifting her head and examining the object through narrowed eyes. “The communication bracelet? I didn’t pack that.”

“It’s mine!” Islen smiled, holding out her hand. “Merrill gave it to me!”

“She _gave_ it to you?” Papa raised an eyebrow. Islen nodded, stretching her fingers farther. “All right but you can’t wear it to bed. Do you know how uncomfortable that would get? It’ll be ‘Papa, take it off!’ not thirty minutes from now.”

Islen dropped her hand, disappointed, and Mama flopped back down on her bed. Papa carefully set the bracelet back on the table.

“Papa, story.” Islen pulled the cover to her chin. It was scratchy but warmed her to her toes.

Papa gave a very put-upon sigh, but his eyes danced in the candlelight. She always thought Papa had very _pretty_ eyes.

“Wanna hear about a grumpy elf who can walk in the Fade?”

“Sounds intense.” Mama lifted her head onto an elbow.

“Is this a _scary_ story?” Islen narrowed her eyes.

“No, kid.” Papa laughed and settled down on the bed beside her. “I think it’s time I introduce you to the subtle art of _insult comedy_.”

* * *

_“So, what do you make of them?” Papa whispered. Islen could tell he had moved to him and Mama’s bed. “Ruffles is nice, huh?”_

_“You **cannot** rile that woman.”_

_Papa’s laugh trailed off into a hum. “Did you talk to anyone about Islen?”_

_“Did you?”_

_“Didn’t know there was anything to talk about.”_

_Mama sighed. “I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.”_

_“Try Adan. We can just tell him she got sick. No need to have the Seeker sniffing around for something unusual.”_

_Mama grunted softly, shifting a little. “What’s your problem with her, exactly?”_

_“She put Sunshine in chains. Forgive me if I don’t add her to my list of Wintersend gifts.”_

_“You know I didn’t ask when you goaded her in Kirkwall because I thought you were just being protective. But now that I’ve talked to her she’s,” Mama paused, “decent.”_

_“Decent? She’s perfect.” He raised his voice a little and Mama quickly hushed him. “It’s all, ‘Well I don’t see it that way but I understand where you’re coming from’ and ‘Help me to understand’. She even downplayed her past! I don’t trust it.”_

_Mama laughed. “So if she were more…dishonest, you might get on?”_

_Papa choked, sputtering a little. “Yes! Have a damn skeleton in your closet like the rest of us!”_

_Islen heard Mama laugh low and long until she was snorting. It took her quite a while to stop._

_“I love you.”_

_Papa made a disgusted noise. “I love you, too.”_

* * *

"I’m sure one of the healers could get around to her, but there are people here who need more attention and she's fine now. Just a little worn out." Mama was talking to the potions man about her. It was medicine stuff and very dull. “Besides, idle hands, you know?”

"What’s the issue?"

"All of her muscles contracted. Then she wouldn't wake for days."

"Sounds familiar,"

Islen stepped outside. A bald man was looking in her direction.

“Master Tethras’ child.” He watched her carefully. “Do your parents know you’re wandering in the snow?”

“Mama’s inside.” She motioned behind her. “Adults talk a lot.”

“Asking questions is important.”

“Why?”

The bald man smiled at her. It was an unusual reaction. “Without questions you can’t have answers.”

Islen thought she understood that. Merrill liked it when she asked questions.

She pointed at his staff. “Are you a mage?”

“I am.” He straightened.

“You don’t _sound_ like a mage.”

“How do mages sound?”

“...different.” She insisted. Islen didn’t know what to think of this man. He _said_ he was a mage but she heard his song as though listening through a tin cup, faded and distant and crackling like old paper. It was...wrong.

She used her First Sight.

And blacked out.

When she came to, her head was in Mama’s lap. She could tell it was her, even with half her face hidden. She smelled the leather and glove oil. Also, she was yelling at the bald man. Mama never yelled, except when she was scared. The man didn’t seem to care. He was watching Islen watch him with that strange smile.

“Is this funny to you?”

“Of course not.” He flicked his gaze to Mama. “I wasn’t aware she had a gift.”

“We do our best to keep it quiet in...certain company.” Mama groused.

“You are understandably concerned.” He replied. “Consider the matter forgotten.”

“Mama, I’m ‘wake.” Islen had been told it was impolite to spy, though this had done very little to deter her.

“Oh, Maker.” Her mother’s face came into view and she was lifted to sit. “Are you okay?” Islen nodded, rubbing her eyes.

“It made my head feel funny.” She tried to explain.

“You’re probably not feeling well from before, huh?” Mama pulled her hair from her face to feel her forehead. Islen made a face, but said nothing. She had used her Sight fine, yesterday.

“I apologize,” her attention was drawn back to the man, elf, her mind corrected noticing his ears when he crouched to her level, “I am Solas.”

“Solas? The hedge mage.” Mama sounded less angry and more...curious. “Thanks for helping my family. I hear I owe you my sister’s life.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“That’s not how I work.” Mama clucked her tongue. “But I _can_ promise an uncomfortable friendship and unnecessary jokes.”

“You and your husband are well-matched.”

She laughed through her nose, wriggling out from under Islen to stand and brushing the snow from her legs. “That’s true.”

“Did your daughter’s illness coincide with the Breach’s opening?” Solas raised a brow and Mama slowly nodded.

“We think so. Why?”

“As you said, I was here for your sister’s reaction. Perhaps I may aid in discovering the cause of Islen’s?”

Mama looked between them, breathing through her nose. “I can’t see how it’ll hurt. As long as you _forget_ after,” she gazed down at Islen, “Don’t do your trick on him, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hello, da’len. My name is Solas.”

“An’eth’ara.” She stuck her hand out. “Emma Islen.”

“Na dirtha?” He took it, shaking briefly.

“Lethal’an Merrill ara ghilan.” Islen nodded. She glanced briefly at her mother, who seemed a little dazed, before turning back. “You sound funny.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“You don’t sound like a mage.” She repeated.

“Ah, yes, you mentioned that.”

Every song was different, but there was always a sort of hum to a mage. Even the Tranquil had it, though it made her ears itch when she listened too long. Mages _weren’t_ quiet or muffled. And they _certainly_ didn’t knock her over with her First Sight.

“Na sulahn.” Islen explained. “Mages sound different from you.”

“Does everyone you meet have a song?”

“Mages and templars,” she counted off her fingers, “spirits.”

His eyes widened. “Have you met many spirits?”

“Yeah,” she toed the ground, “there’re lots in Kirkwall.”

“What do they sound like to you?”

She thought about this. Spirits were the easiest. The loudest. “Like a...river tune. Or a lightning bolt.” Her eyebrows knitted together. That was what Justice sounded like, when Anders went away. “Spirits are easy to hear, but it’s not a song you can sing. You just feel it.”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean.” Solas’ smile surprised her.

“We’ve asked her these questions before.” Mama said. “It’s...difficult to explain. Mostly it’s the lyrium she hears.”

“Perhaps it’s her connection to the Stone?” Solas looked over Islen’s shoulder.

“Ah, yeah that’s,” Mama appeared to struggle for a moment, “a thought.”

“You’re very intelligent.” Solas focused on her again. Islen liked that Solas talked to her like a grown-up, even though he sounded wrong. “I visit the Fade regularly. I have seen relics and ruins and...many more things connected to it that can be too difficult to put into words.” He stood, leaning on his staff. “If you see another spirit, perhaps you could come find me and we’ll discuss this further?”

“Okay.” Islen thought he might be doing what adults always did to make her feel better.

“Dareth shiral, da’len.” He tilted his chin down.

“Dareth shiral.” She repeated. Then, before Mama could lead her away or before she lost her courage, she stuttered out a quiet, “Um?”

Solas raised an eyebrow.

“Did you ever see a griffon?”

* * *

Islen could tell things were serious, so she tried to stay out of everyone’s way and inside the Chantry as much as possible. There were a few children her age who, like her, kept to themselves. Some helped their parents and a few, who Islen thought may be older children, were handed a sword, strapped into armour, and sent to see Cullen.

She missed the Alienage. She missed Kirkwall.

Sometimes Mama got locked into the big room with a few of the grown-ups or Papa would go away to take care of the sick lyrium. But when he was there, he'd let her play outside even when it was snowing.

She tried to make new friends, mostly grown ups. Mother Giselle was old and boring, but nicer than a lot of the Mothers she had met. A Qunari called The Iron Bull kept calling her ‘runt’ and ‘little bird’ and told fun stories like Papa. There weren’t a lot of Qunari left in Kirkwall. He was _so big_ and he seemed to like Mama a lot.

The snow buried them in for a few weeks and Islen got to write her letters again. She was given a pretty, wooden desk beside Josephine and, as long as she stayed quiet and left when she was told, she could practice there.

She jumped when Mama slammed the door open. She had been writing ‘Herald’.

“If you could please refrain from tearing apart what little remains of Haven, Champion?” Islen gaped when Josephine didn’t look up from her own paper. She was amazing.

Mama looked at the door as though she had only just noticed it. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Hi, Mama!”

“Hey, pip,” it was a few strides to get to her but she took a moment to kiss the top of her head. She looked over Islen’s work and huffed, making a low noise in her throat. “Herald? Hm.”

Islen frowned. Bethany and Mama weren’t getting along.

“You’re sending her to Orlais? You don’t think that’s a little,” Mama crossed her arms, “risky?”

Josephine finally looked up, setting her papers aside. “She was there before. On your recommendation, if I recall.”

“She wasn’t the _Herald of Andraste_ , then.”

“No, simply an escaped Circle mage. Hardly any danger in that.”

“Well, nothing we’re not used to at least.” Mama took a deep breath and leaned, heavily, against the wall. “I may have been a little hard on her.”

“You are frightened.”

“You should apologize, Mama.” Islen turned in her chair. “When I fight with Nalis, you always make me apologize.”

Mama crouched, smile placating. “Nalis is five and you fight over who gets to be which character in your games.”

“If you’re right or wrong in the end, still say sorry so feelings mend.” Islen recited from memory, gaze fixed.

Mama looked away to stare at Josephine. “My own words. Used _against_ me.”

“ _For_ you, I think.” Josephine smiled. “A natural diplomat.”

* * *

Mama must have apologized because Aunt Bethany started eating with them sometimes and she looked a little happier.

New people came after the snow melted.

Sera gave her sweets and taught her funny words that she thought she might not be allowed to say in front of Mother Giselle or Madame Vivienne.

Islen always held her back straighter around Vivienne. She didn’t talk to her a lot but everyone whispered. Sera said whispers were for pranks or people who couldn’t be ‘arsed to talk to your front side’.

Sera was probably her best friend.

Blackwall was a Grey Warden with a big, bushy beard. She heard Vivienne tell Josephine she didn't like Blackwall. He made Islen a set of little wooden dragons when she told him she hadn't got to bring her Holy Doly Dragon, so she couldn't understand why.

She saw Bethany, chin raised and fists clenched, arguing with her the way adults sometimes did, without shouting. She couldn’t tell who won that fight, but Bethany walked away so angry she didn’t see her.

Islen was beginning to think Vivienne didn’t get along with anyone.

Vivienne cleared her throat when she noticed her standing beside a pillar. “Can I help you, child?”

“I’m Islen.” She walked forward.

“I remember you.” Vivienne sounded nicer when no one was around. “Do you often spy on adult’s conversations?”

“Only when they’re very loud.”

Vivienne gave a surprised laugh. “You’re cheeky.” She lowered her voice and Islen leaned in a little to hear better. “Your aunt and myself were just discussing what to do about the mages in Redcliffe. Have you been paying any attention to the situation there?” Islen shook her head. Vivienne sighed. “You have no idea the political connections you’re making, even now. But then, I suppose all of this must be terribly boring to someone so young.”

Islen bit her lip. She wasn’t bored. She missed home, but this place was fun!

“It’s snowing again.” She offered.

Vivienne looked past her towards the doors, muttering to herself. “Oh, is it? I’ll have to write to Dechene for more blankets.”

“There you are!”

Islen jumped. She forgot how quiet Papa could be sometimes. She giggled as he scooped her up from behind and turned her around in his arms.

“You’re supposed to come right back when you leave Ruffles’ room.” He scolded.

“Sorry.” Islen said, hoping she looked the right amount of sad.

“All right, sure,” he didn’t look mad, but he didn’t seem to believe her, either. “Iron Lady.” He nodded at Vivienne, smile still wide.

Maybe Vivienne got along with Papa. He liked everyone except Cassandra, even though Islen thought he might only be making fun of her most of the time.

“Varric, darling, how are you?”

“Dry boots, new ink, can’t complain.” Papa shrugged. He set Islen down, turning his attention to her. “Come on, you. Bodahn made these cakes you used to love.”

“Varric you will _spoil_ that child’s dinner!” Vivienne called as he led her away.

“I _am_ sorry I didn’t come right back.” Islen chewed the edge of her thumbnail. “Or tell anyone where I was.” She added, for good measure.

Papa looked lost for a moment and then laughed. “I know. Just don’t do it again.”

Once she knew he wasn’t _actually_ mad, she found herself getting excited again. “I saw Bethany have a fit with Madame Vivienne!”

“Sunshine? Do tell.”

“I couldn’t hear it.” She said, kicking the snow in front of her. “Vivienne said they were talking about the mages.” Papa nodded, rolling his eyes a little. “Why? They’re both mages.”

She let Papa pick her up as the ground got icier. “Friends aren’t going to agree on everything. Happens with everyone.” He said, as though that explained everything.

It didn’t. Not at all. If anything, Islen was _more_ confused. She was going to do that with _her_ friends, too?

He must have seen the struggle on her face because he sighed and kept talking. “Do Daisy and Blondie agree on everything?”

“Maybe?”

Merrill got along with a lot of people, but then much like Isabela...Nana hadn’t been around much, lately.

“Okay, what about dwarves?” He slapped her thigh lightly, smiling in a way that meant he’d just thought of something clever.

“Oh, yeah.”

She knew there were different kinds of dwarves just like there were different kinds of elves. Papa talked about it to her the day she snuck into the Merchant’s Guild.

When they found her, an old dwarf with a messy beard and horrible breath had spit on her face and said something in a language she didn’t understand. She was sure the spit was on accident but she didn’t think he was saying anything nice.

She knew she was right when Papa snarled something back.

The man snorted deep, back into his throat. “In our halls? I think not. I was told the kalnas at least kept tradition.” Islen pressed herself into Papa’s leg. “Did your father gamble your family’s honor along with his money?”

“I’d watch it, buddy, you’re stepping on some very loose sand.” Papa squared his shoulders. “My mother liked your family, _apparently_ , so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, _despite_ the fact that you couldn’t find two coins to rub together for her when she was alive.”

“Ilsa was a good woman, but she married beneath herself.” His gaze traveled back to Islen. “That a stone-blind half-breed was given her name is an insult.”

Papa went very still.

Another dwarf stepped between them, younger than Papa and very nervous. “That’s enough, father.” To Papa he said, “He is newly Topside. Apologies if we have offended.”

And Papa smiled, as though nothing had happened at all. “Oh, no need. Parents, right?” He leaned in and, had Islen not been pressed so close to him, she may not have heard his words. “I’d convince him to make peace with his feet on the ground, his face in the sun. He even _blinks_ at my daughter again and I’ll return him to the dirt.”

Islen knew some dwarves were different. _She_ was different.

But this wasn’t dwarves!

“They’re not dwarves, they’re mages!” Islen nodded, feeling as though she had worked out the answer to some very complex riddle.

“So?”

“So which one’s _right_?” She whined.

Varric laughed. “Sweetie, you are asking the _wrong_ dwarf.”

* * *

A few days later, Bethany came back to Haven with a group of mages. She walked right past Vivienne, back straight, eyes set ahead.

She no longer looked angry.

And while neither woman apologized, Islen thought she at least saw Vivienne smile around her after that.

* * *

She was watching Sandal enchant a small dagger when she heard shouting over the hill and decided to investigate. She was sure it was only one of the Chargers, but they were always fun. Maybe Krem would teach her another pirate song.

Isabela was going to be so impressed!

The snow had melted more near the Chantry but out by the training grounds there were still fluffy piles of it. Islen jumped into one with both feet, letting it push up around her ankles.

...then gasped as a set of arms pulled her down.

"Hush, you, s’just me!” Sera was at her ear, speaking in a low whisper. “See Flappy-Robes? Tall with the perfect hair?"

Sera was sniggering now. It meant she wanted to do something naughty. Islen straightened, looking out across the snow. She was talking about a mage swinging his staff at Cullen. It looked like they were helping a few of the soldiers train.

"When he stops twirling about I want you to go up to them and do this..."

The rest she whispered in her ear. Islen scrunched up her nose.

“Why?”

“It’s a laugh!”

“Will they be mad at me?

Sera laughed. “Yeah, after they’re done with ah! And oh no!”

Islen felt her face fall.

“You don’t want that. Course you don’t. _Stupid_!” Sera was mostly talking to herself. Islen didn’t mind. “Just tell them I told you to say it, yeah? Kids can get away with whatever.”

Islen considered this and that hadn’t been her experience. Grown ups were the ones who got to says swears and go wherever they wanted. “Really?”

“Oh, no.” Sera looked vaguely disappointed at her own realisation. “Don’t listen to me. But listen to me! Go, right?”

Islen nodded, jumping down and running over to where Cullen and the other man stood. She slammed into Cullen's leg with her full weight.

"Oh." Cullen jerked a nod. He was always very tense. Maybe his muscles hurt from the training. "Islen. Hello."

"Hi, Cullen. Hello.” She nodded at the mage.

“Hello,” the mage raised an eyebrow, seeming to force his muscles into a smile. “Aren’t you...a child."

“Islen, you probably shouldn’t be out here.” Cullen gently scolded. “Was there something you needed?”

She took a moment to remember what Sera had told her. Something about a skeleton and biting...there were so many words she couldn’t remember! She felt her heartbeat speed up and did the breaths Aunt Merrill taught her.

What were the last words Sera said? Oh!

“I got an infection.”

Cullen’s eyes widened. “What? That’s… _awful_. When,” he blinked, a series of expressions passing over his face before he settled on, “How did that happen?”

“Sera said,” Islen giggled.

“Sera?”

“Sera said to say it was _your face_!”

Cullen ran a hand over his face, “Maker.”

She held her arm out, pushing her hand into her sleeve as Sera had showed her. “ _They had to cut it off_!”

“That isn’t funny, Islen.”

“You’re not funny.” She shot back immediately. Cullen’s eyes widened and, from a few feet away, Islen heard Sera cackle.

“She’s right, you know,” the mage, for his part, looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, “you’re _not_ very funny.”

Cullen dropped his shield with a loud sigh and stomped off into the field of snow. “Sera!”

“Well, I suppose this means he won’t be making introductions. I’m Dorian of House Pavus.”

* * *

Dorian was _very_ handsome. His insides were all bright white lines and controlled force, like Vivienne, but he was a little easier to talk to than she was. He spoke to her a lot like Papa, mostly in jokes and stopping to explain the really big words.

“Are you _really_ from Tevinter?” She asked. She had told him all about her friends at the Alienage, and her family in Kirkwall. He told her he was from Tevinter, which she had only seen on maps. It looked very far.

 _Yes_ ,” he let out an annoyed hiss, “and I’m a _necromancer_. I can raise skeletons!”

He made a noise like a long ‘o’. It was one that Mama sometimes made when she told her spooky stories and Islen supposed it was meant to frighten her. Mama only ever looked as silly as Dorian did now so the effect was somewhat diminished.

Islen scrunched her nose. “Okay.”

“Nothing?” Dorian looked a little disappointed. “Thought I'd at least get a frightened squawk.”

“I think Sera mentioned something about skeletons.”

“Oh, Sera,” the corner of his mouth lifted, “ _charming_ girl.”

“My Uncle Fenris is from Tevinter!” She smiled brightly. “I don't think he was an ala..atl…”

“Altus," He corrected as though reading from a book. “If he left, I doubt he’s one any longer. He would have told you if he had been, I’m sure.”

“You’d know, right?” She asked and he nodded, looking a little resigned. “Did you know an elf Altus? Fenris? He's kind of old like you."

"Thanks much.” He laughed, brushing down the front of his robes. “Generally elves aren't…” he trailed off looking uncomfortable. “Has he told you _anything_ about Tevinter?"

He hadn't. It was one of the few things Islen never asked questions about, like when Nana was coming home or why she didn't have a grandma. Mama had told her it was fine to ask whatever she wanted but she could tell when it upset people. Those sort of questions made Fenris sad.

"I don't think he liked it. Like you."

Dorian was quiet for a while. "I love Tevinter."

"But you left." She protested.

He sighed. "Sometimes you have to step away from a situation to resolve it. Things there are...in a bad way. I want to fix that. Change things.” He looked at her beseechingly. “Do you understand that?"

Islen huffed. "Papa says people don't agree and we should leave each other alone. You say we should change stuff.” She threw her hands in the air. “What am I really supposed to do?"

Dorian chuckled, ruffling her hair. "You're six. You should read."

* * *

Islen found Cassandra in the study, flipping through one of the books with a thoughtful expression. Islen looked at the cover through the woman’s fingers.

“That’s one of my papa’s books.” She sighed heavily. Cassandra muffled a startled squeak when Islen plopped beside her. “It’s got kissings, though. Is he making you read it?”

“I, I’ve read it...before, actually.”

“Have you read the one with the boat on the cover?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Aunt Isabela told me it’s got one bit where someone kicks a man’s head off!” Cassandra looked shocked. “But when I learn to read bigger words, I can just take the books down and find out myself.”

“That sort of forward thinking attitude will serve you well.” Cassandra nodded at her. Islen beamed.

“Here.” She handed Cassandra the piece of paper she had carried down the hall with her. “I got bored with letters so I drew you a picture.”

Cassandra smiled politely. “I...see.”

Islen began pointing at parts of the picture. “That’s you and you have dragon wings because Mama said you fought a dragon. That’s Josephine. You’re holding hands because you like her.”

Above her, Cassandra made a choking sound. Islen looked up.

“Are you okay?”

“I, yes.” She nodded, face red. “W-where are Sister Leliana and Commander Cullen?”

“Cullen got his own picture because his coat was too big.” Islen admitted. “But Leliana’s right there. She’s the bird.”

 _She_ had thought it was obvious but adults did like to overthink things.

Above her, she heard a laugh.

“It _is_ her!” Islen looked up to see Mama bent over and looking at the drawing. “Look, she’s got a little cape!”

Islen stood from her place on the bench. “Is it time to eat?”

“Let’s say yes.” Mama picked her up and set her on the ground. She stilled, her eyes drawn to something, and Islen realised what it was when she swiped Papa’s book from the bench beside Cassandra.

“A stuffy place like Haven has this old thing in stock?” A smile spread across her face and she turned the book to show Cassandra the back. “Is that or is that not a symbol of masculine virility?”

“Hawke!” Cassandra’s eyes darted to Islen. That meant whatever Mama had said was something she shouldn’t repeat.

Islen committed the words to memory.

Mama shrugged, setting the book back on the bench.

“I think that was hers, Mama.” Islen said when they were far enough away from the Chantry that she knew Cassandra wouldn’t hear. “She was reading it.”

“ _Was_ she now?” She grinned. “And here I thought she was _my_ fan.”

The air smelled like burnt charcoal and it had just begun to rain.

Islen stuck her tongue out to taste the drops.

* * *

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

Islen bit her lip and tried very hard not to cry.

There was fire everywhere. They were burning down everything.

“Come on, darling.” Madame Vivienne swung her up on her hip, not seeming to care about how dirty her robes would be after, and wasted no time in carrying her to the back of the Chantry.

“Where’re Mama and Papa?”

“Your parents are right behind us. It’s very important to them that you leave safely.” Islen felt her breath pick up as she was passed off to a pair of unfamiliar arms. Islen dug her fingers into Vivienne’s neck.

“It’s Josephine.” Vivienne assured her. “You know her.”

Islen nodded, sobbing brokenly, and Vivienne removed her arms to cinch them around Josephine’s neck instead.

“Be careful with her, she’s in shock.” She heard Vivienne whisper to Josephine over her shoulder then, louder, to her. “She’ll take _very_ good care of you, dear, and you’ll see your parents again soon, I promise.”

Islen gripped the silk beneath her nails and let herself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the state of the Chantry, Circles, and Templars in Thedas:  
> Despite the lack of Chantry explosion, I still believe things in universe with the Circles would have played out very similarly. Without boring you with too many details: Rite of Tranquility’s reversal discovered, Seekers and Templars attack the Conclave of Enchanters, Divine Justinia helps Enchanters/White Spires mages, Seekers and Templars leave, and the Circles rise up with mages breaking into factions.
> 
> It’s all the same with everyone in-fighting and abandoning the Chantry, except now the common folk are, if anything, even more confused as there wasn’t a massive explosion to precipitate this whole Mage-Templar war.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a few good travel distance references for DA:I. Take some of these with a grain of salt. Bethany could be out for weeks and Islen, who doesn’t have a really good grasp of time yet, would only notice she’s gone _forever_. Once she starts getting used to these extended absences, however, they start to seem normal.

Islen didn’t know how long they walked in the snow. A while turned into too long. She didn’t see any faces she knew except Josephine.

“Josephine.”

“Yes, pet?”

People kept calling her nice things.

“Your ruffles are soft.”

She felt her laugh. “Thank you, they’re _Antivan_. Now get some rest.”

* * *

When she woke again, she was cradled in her Papa’s arms. She heard a flap of fabric take a thrashing from the worst of the wind as it protected them.

Islen threw her arms around him, despite the cold in her bones. She didn’t know why she started crying again.

He made shushing noises until she calmed. “I’m sorry. That was wild, huh?”

“Where’s," she hiccuped into his shoulder, "where’s Mama?”

“You think I’d leave without her?" Islen wiped her face on the fabric of his collar. "She’s right over there.”

Cullen was talking to Mama, jaw clenched. Mama wasn't paying very much attention so he was likely talking _at_ her. Islen could barely see them in the snow, let alone hear what they were talking about, but the light under Cullen’s skin shone as a dim beacon.

That was something that had been gnawing at her.

“Why does Cullen pretend he’s not a templar?”

She had thought it was like the mages they weren’t supposed to talk about. Mama had told her fibbing was all right if it protected people, protected yourself. Maybe no one was supposed to _know_ Cullen used to be a templar. So Islen had stayed silent on the matter.

But, then, it seemed like everyone knew! Dorian called him one for jokes!

“He’s not pretending, Islen. He’s not a templar anymore.” He said. “You’re not _born_ a templar. It’s not like a mage or a spirit. It’s...hard, but you can stop.”

“It's in his skin.”

Papa looked at her, a little afraid, a little sad. It was a look he sometimes gave her when he didn't understand what she meant. The look Islen almost always got when she talked about magic.

The first time she’d seen it was when he'd asked her what she saw under her own skin. What _her_ song sounded like.

_"Isana."_

It meant singing stone. The dwarf word for lyrium. Islen had only ever learned a few dwarvish words. Papa never seemed interested or particularly proud. But he’d never looked like _that_ either.

She hadn’t repeated it.

"You haven't told that to _him_ , have you?” Islen shook her head. “Templars use the lyrium. It’s what lets them,” his face was pinched, “do their job. As far as I know, as long as they have the willpower to _stop_ using it, then they...you won’t...it won’t be in his skin anymore.”

“Lyrium’s in almost everything.”

“So you’ve said.” He smiled, scratching his head. “I’m sorry I don’t know what it looks like.”

She knew he wasn’t _really_ sorry he couldn’t hear the Stone like some dwarves could. Papa never wanted to be a underground dwarf. Islen had learned this was a bit like saying he wished he could help her more.

“That’s okay.” She smiled and Papa chuckled.

“We used to know Cullen, back when mages lived in Kirkwall.”

“He was a templar _then_?”

“Yep.”

Islen looked out into the snow where Mama was still mostly ignoring Cullen, and opened her First Sight again.

His light was shattered, his song was stilted.

Maybe they would fade. Maybe they _should_.

She turned her gaze to her own arms and thought about how strange it would feel, watching the light leave her body. Listening to her song end.

* * *

Islen fell asleep easily in the cold. When she woke up, she found herself buried under a number of blankets. Papa was gone. Mama and Cullen had moved somewhere else.

A spirit in the shape of a boy sat next to her cot. He wore a very big hat.

The play of songs, one over the other, crowded her mind. It was too cold to fully use her First Sight. He didn’t seem very interested in her, anyway.

After a while, she tapped his shoulder.

“Can you find my parents?”

He stared at her for a long moment, nodded and, without a word, disappeared.

* * *

“Are you warm enough, sweetheart?”

Papa leaned over to feel her forehead. Islen thought of the boy without a blanket and crawled out of the pile. “I can just sit in your lap, it’s warm there.”

“Body heat, she has the right idea.” Mama came to sit near them. “We should ask Bull to block the wind.”

Papa pulled Mama down and she brought her knees up to burrow into his jacket. She looked tiny and silly, making faces at Islen from below Papa’s chin. Islen giggled.

Everyone else was very suddenly singing. Even Papa hummed a little.

Mama, she noticed, looked bored.

“I like music.” Islen smiled up at her.

“Me too.” Mama smiled back, running a hand down her hair. Islen felt her eyes droop at the touch. She wanted to stay awake to hear the music but it felt so nice. “I just don’t like this song very much.”

* * *

_“So Corypheus. Not dead.”_

_“I'm just as shocked as you are. And I’m the one who stabbed him through the eye.”_

_"Shit." Papa must not have known she was awake. He let out a long breath._

_“I don’t know why she said yes. She doesn’t owe them anything. This **isn’t** her responsibility."_

_“I’m not arguing with you, Hawke. The important bit is, well, **Sunshine** disagrees.”_

_"Blood of the Hawke, Andraste's wrinkled tits.” Something was thrown hard enough to bounce. Mama was quiet for a while. “I guess it's good we're here, in any case."_  
  
Islen tuned her parents out, going over the day's events in her mind.

In the densely packed snow and the great, craggy mountains, Aunt Bethany had found them a castle, just by looking.

Islen had sat on top of Mama’s shoulders and watched a crowd of people watch Bethany become an _Inquisitor_. A few people cried but they were clapping so they must have been happy tears. She clapped too.

But afterwards Mama went inside with the other grown-ups and, when they came out, _no one_ looked happy at all.

Whoever this dragon man was, Islen knew he was bad.

 _It’s okay._ She thought, rolling over in her cot. _Mama has beaten dragons before._

* * *

Skyhold was bigger than Haven, with mountains on every side. Islen didn't have her own desk anymore but there were enough rooms to keep her busy and a whole new library to explore. She wasn't allowed below a certain floor and Mama and Papa didn’t like her in the tavern when they weren’t there, but with so many people filing in and out, no one seemed to notice when she wandered somewhere she shouldn’t or did something she oughtn't to.

Anyway, sneaking about made Sera laugh and a happy Sera meant more cookies.

The boy from before she knew now was named Cole. He brought her a doll when he found out hers had been eaten by the flames.

He watched her play with it, in front of the big fire that reminded her of home.

“New friend?” Papa asked, standing from one of the seats.

Islen half-turned from her spot on the ground “Papa, this is Cole.”

“ _You’re_ the one that has the mages tearing each other’s eyeballs out?” Papa laughed. “You’re just a kid!”

Cole blinked.

Papa looked down at Islen. “Are you getting along with him?”

“Yes.” Islen nodded. “He brought me a new doll.”

Papa knelt to examine her prize. “Pretty. A little worn.” He took it, flipping it over. “A lot worn. Did you take this from someone?”

“Her child was lost. The doll reminds her of someone she’ll never see again.”

Islen wrinkled her nose.

“I took it.” Cole said, after a moment.

“Right, well, her mother and I aren’t _so_ hard up for sovereigns, thanks.” He passed the doll back to Cole who looked at it in mild puzzlement. “Besides, _she_ might want that around, whoever she is.”

“But it makes her _sad_.” Cole shook his head.

“Sadness can be good, too. It’s a reminder.”

“I want Blackwall to make me more dragons.” Islen chimed in. She didn’t know exactly who they were talking about, but this seemed to cheer Cole.

“Hands shape the wood and she smiles, a child’s smile. It drowns out the screams.”

Islen stood, brushing herself off. “You want to come with me to ask?”

Cole's hat bobbed in a nod. Islen rounded the table, walking towards the stairs that led outside. When she turned back, he was no where in sight, though she could still hear him as though he were next to her.

Papa seemed not to notice, shooting her a stern look. “ _Just_ to the stables and back, Islen.”

“Yes, Papa!”

* * *

There was fresh meat for dinner. Islen wasn’t sure what it was but it smelled like venison. Still, she had heard some of the stories the Chargers told about what they had fought. Mama cut up the meat into smaller pieces on her plate and she decided it was probably best not to ask. Bethany eventually joined them, turning over her boots to shake the sand out and tossing them in the corner. Papa shook his head at the display.

“Give me a break.” She whined. “I’ve been gone for a month, I think I deserve to kick my feet up.”

“Leadership has changed you, Sunshine.”

Islen concentrated on her food as the grown-ups spoke over her.

“Did you miss me?” Bethany wiggled her toes in Mama’s face.

“Who has the time to notice?” Mama slapped her ankle away. “You’re not the only one with things to do, you know? On the bright side, I think Josephine’s finally realising my political talents extend about as far as Cassandra’s.”

“I heard Harding found something exciting in the Hissing Wastes.” Papa raised a curious brow.

“The Tomb of Fairel, a Paragon. It took us nearly a week to comb the whole thing.”

“Creepy.”

Bethany laughed. “It’s _history_ , Varric.”

“It’s dwarf history. I know enough about that to know it’s creepy.”

“Most history is.” Mama chewed noisily. Islen looked up from her plate with a huff and Mama shot her a contrite smile.

“Fair point.” Papa grinned.

Bethany pulled her feet under her and picked off of her own plate. They let the quiet settle around them for a while before picking up another conversation that went over Islen’s head. Some old story with names she half-recognized.

Eventually Islen was allowed from the table to go play with her toys. Blackwall hadn’t made her as many, but he had carved her a griffon this time and she thought that more than made up for it. She was walking it across the arm of Mama’s chair when a knock sounded at the door. It opened as Papa rose to answer it and Sister Leliana stepped through the door.

"You know," Papa fell back into his seat, "we could have been naked."

Islen giggled, covering her mouth.

"I like taking risks."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you." Papa moved a few of the dishes to the end of the table.

“That looks like her business face.” Bethany smiled, pushing out her chair and standing. “I promised Bull and Harding I would meet them at the tavern after I checked in on Islen.”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana laughed softly, moving further into the room. “I expect your full report tomorrow.”

“See? Business face.” Islen felt a kiss on the top of her head before her aunt brushed past her and out the door, stopping only briefly to grab her boots.

"Can I go?" Islen turned pleading eyes to her parents.

"You may not." Papa emptied most of their scraps into a bucket for the animals, tossing the unusable bits out the window. Islen felt a momentary stab of pain in her chest. Sarge could eat a whole bucket, all on his own. "Let the adults have some fun."

"I'm fun!"

"You _are_." Mama grabbed her around the middle to give her a cuddle. "That's why we want you here with us."

Islen hugged her back. Mama was stuck in room most days. She was probably very bored.

"Want me to do a play?" Islen asked, when Mama let her go.

“Always,” Mama looked over her head where Leliana and Papa watched her. "You go get that set up in the bedroom.”

“No I can do it here.” Islen sat on the floor, setting her toys out in front of her.

“Of course you can.” Mama sighed. Across the table, Leliana chuckled. "What can we do for you?"

"I've intercepted a letter from one of your associates."

"You read my mail?"

"Since your arrival."

“Told you.” Papa said. “Pay up."

"You did." Islen watched Mama slide a few coins towards him.

“What she had to say about Islen was _fascinating_.”

Islen looked up at the sound of her name. Leliana grinned down at her. Islen went back to ignoring them.

“That’s interesting.” Mama said. She didn’t sound interested. “I suppose there’s no use in hiding things from someone with your considerable reach.”

“Do not misjudge my intentions, Hawke. I was informed Islen was... _ill_ when she first came to Haven and did some digging of my own.” Leliana said.

“That seems like a normal, human response to a sick six-year-old.” Papa said simply. He sounded tired.

“A small camp where disease spreads quickly and a mysterious illness that could very well be the next Blight? My apologies for not coming to see you about this sooner, but you understand my caution." Islen watched Mama's hand tighten on her knee. "Your daughter has a rare talent yet, from what I can gather, she isn’t a mage.” Leliana looked at Islen and she shook her head quickly. “It’s something you cannot explain so you keep it hidden away. Much how some of our Circles operate.”

“Islen _was_ being trained by someone in Kirkwall until this started up.”

Mama sounded very angry.

“That was worded poorly.” Leliana looked contemplative. “I find the similarities between the Inquisitor and her niece troubling. Still, sometimes all you can do is throw things at the wall to see what sticks.”

Mama chuckled and Islen knew whatever line Leliana had crossed had been forgiven. “It would help if we had a wall to work with.”

Islen raised her eyes again. Leliana stood, smiling at them each in turn. “You should meet with the Arcanist we sourced in.”

“An Arcanist?” Papa leaned forward on his elbows, tone skeptical.

“Dagna. She knows more about lyrium than all of us, even the Templars and Cassandra.” Leliana said as though that explained everything. “I have a friend in a situation similar to yours and she’s been more than helpful. She’s in the Undercroft with Sandal if you want to see her.”

“Wait,” Islen reached out to grab the edge of her cloak, afraid she might reach the door without hearing her. “You can stay and watch my play.”

“Islen, let go.” Papa pulled her hand away, holding it in his own. “She might have something else she needs to do.”

Mama and Leliana shared a look. Islen did not know this, but it was a look that said, ‘I don’t like this situation anymore than you do, but I will tolerate your presence for the sake of the six-year-old in the room’.

“I’m sure I can spare a few minutes.”

* * *

They went to the Undercroft after breakfast the next morning.

“Hello, how can I help you, um,” This was said by a new dwarf, with pretty red hair and a bright gold chestplate. Her lips were pulled in, her face a cloud of uncertainty.

“Marian Hawke.” Mama held out a hand. “Inquisitor's sister, reluctant advisor, and _technically_ the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Oh! Hello! Dagna! Pleasure to meet you!” Dagna shook her hand so hard that Mama’s arm moved with it.

“The pleasure’s mine. You wrote probably the only theory on lyrium vapors that didn’t put me to sleep.” Mama smiled widely. Papa balked. “What? I read!”

“I wouldn’t call that my _greatest_ accomplishment.” Dagna blushed. “But I’m happy it kept you awake!”

“And this is Varric,”

Dagna interrupted with a gasp. “Varric Tethras. Writer of The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Empress and Four Nights with the Arl! The murderer of honorable men and innovator of idioms!” She looked at him through her lashes, voice lower but no less excited. “I’ve read your books.”

“Have you met Cassandra yet...?” Mama asked, though she seemed to be speaking to herself.

“I wouldn’t call that my greatest accomplishment.” Papa parroted.

Mama crossed her arms. “Really?”

“I mean, it’s up there.” He grinned, preening a little.

Mama’s face stayed impressively blank.

Papa coughed, motioning to Islen and speaking a little loudly. “And _this_ is our daughter!”

Mama looked down, cocking her head forward. "You want in on this, pip?"

"Hello.” Islen waved from behind her leg. “I'm Islen. I'm six and a half!"

Dagna seemed unable to speak for a moment.

"She's adorable. Sorry, you're adorable!" Dagna addressed _her_ and Islen straightened. Dagna turned her focus back to her parents, smile wide and eyes bright. “So, how can I help you?”

* * *

Dagna’s crafting station was beautiful. She wasn’t the same as Sandal, but she held magic in her hands and talked faster than Islen could keep up.

“Well, her teachers weren’t far off!” Dagna rubbed her hands together. “Take enchanting. Lyrium’s the heart. In certain, rational patterns, it _beats_ like something alive. That’s how I see it.”

“Hm, yes. I see what you mean.” Mama nodded.

Papa blinked. “Really? Good because I’m lost.”

“It means she’s been trained as well as she can be. Mm, probably.” Dagna giggled. "Dont worry, all _you_ need to concern yourself with is how this relates to Islen. If the Rift had some effect on her, even in Orlais either she’s _incredibly_ gifted, more than we know…”

“Or?”

Dagna winced, looking at Islen before continuing. “Or something was targeting her specifically. Given what you’ve told me about Corypheus, I’d say the latter is more likely.”

Islen felt Papa’s hand tighten around her own. Mama looked down at her. “Can you...check for the other one anyway?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Her parents were...agitated. She pulled the word up from somewhere deep in her memory. Feeling or appearing troubled or nervous. Agitated. They huddled in a corner, whispering between themselves and, occasionally, looking in her direction.

She remembered the song she had heard on the way to Haven. That had been _forever_ ago and she had only been sick for a little while! She didn’t know why they were agitated when she was perfectly healthy now.

She didn’t even have a cough!

Dagna had her hold an enchanted vambrace and took notes on anything Islen had to say. She could tell it was Sandal’s work and Dagna jotted a quick line at that.

Islen turned her attention back to Dagna, setting the vambrace down. “Why do adults take so long to talk?”

"I've found it's a lot easier when you learn to talk quickly." She laughed. “Maybe you will too, one day.”

Islen pursed her lips. “You’re an underground dwarf?”

“I was.”

“Can you hear the lyrium?”

Dagna looked uncomfortable. “It’s not the same up here.”

“That’s what everyone says.” Islen nodded knowingly. She had not met many but it was, after all, what every dwarf from underground had told her.

“But I’m an arcanist.” Her smile was light and happy. “I get to work with lyrium all the time. In some ways I see and hear things I never would have in Orzammar.”

“Orzammar is under a mountain.”

“Yes, it is. That’s where I’m from.” Dagna sounded vaguely interested. Then, she seemed vaguely interested in mostly everything. “Where are you from?”

Islen brightened thoughts of dragon men and sickness pushed aside for the moment. “My house! It's in Kirkwall.” Islen described the Manor, including the best spots to hide and how you stood to see the funny bits on the crest. She was careful not to leave out any detail of her room, which was, to her, the highlight of House Amell.

“My goodness. My room was never that interesting.”

“You can stay over if you want. Mama and Papa will let me sleep with them.”

Dagna’s shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter. “I hear Kirkwall is rife with spiritual energy! It'd be an amazing place to study."

“Yeah!” Islen found herself temporarily excited before the thought of giving up her bed caught up to her. Especially after being away from it for so long. “Maybe for a night? Mama, Papa?”

Two expressions, equally taken off guard, stared at her from their corner of agitation.

“Can Dagna spend the night when we go home?"

Mama caught up first. "Sure, pip."

“I don’t know. Are you going to remember to feed her and water her,”

“Papa!” Islen stared at him in horror. Mama punched him on the shoulder. Dagna finally loosed the laugh that had been lodged in her throat.

Papa shook his head fondly. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

* * *

The Rookery was filled with the sound of shuffling. Wings and feet and fabric. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

“What are you doing, little bird?”

Leliana's voice by her ear startled Islen to standing.

“I’m trying to listen to what Mama’s talking about with Solas.” Islen admitted. She looked at the figures, much smaller on the ground floor. It was still too high up to hear anything. “I heard my name.”

Leliana was a spy, she understood.

“Oh I _see_ ,” she smiled, “would you like my advice?”

“Yes, please.”

“Go speak to Dorian. If you listen from the library, you’ll be able to hear much better _and_ they won’t be able to see you.”

She felt her grin go wide. “Thanks, Leliana.”

“Don’t mention it.” She winked.

She sprinted down the stairs, stopping briefly to look at the table covered in bits of foreign creature. There were a few essences that had lost their songs, but nothing new or interesting. When she reached Dorian, he stared at her.

“Mama’s talking to Solas,” she explained in a quiet voice. “I want to spy on them.”

“Carry on then.” He motioned her to the railing, turning back to his book. “Do tell me if there’s anything interesting happening.”

She gave him a thumbs up, kneeling down to hear the voices below.

“...suggest a different direction.”

“Lyrium was the only lead we had.”

“That’s only because you haven’t told Dagna the truth." Solas stared across the table. "What if her illness was genetic? I’m sure it would behoove the one studying Islen to know she is half-blooded.”

“We told her that. Not our fault if someone chooses the wrong half.”

She heard Solas make a frustrated noise and the flipping of pages. Mama annoyed Solas on purpose. She didn’t like him much.

“Islen’s biological father, Fenris, his markings are similar to the vallaslin?”

Islen leaned her face into the railing. Something sparked in a small part of her brain. Like a mouse in the belly of a snake, the information was processed. Digested. Slowly.

“An experiment from his time as a slave in Tevinter.”

“They would have closer ties to the old ways.” Solas sighed. “Whatever name it goes by, vallaslin, isana, lyrium. It would show under her skin, the same as it does her birth father's.”

Islen could feel metal digging into her cheek. The thought had worked its way around to the other parts of her mind. It made her head fuzzy, her vision blurred.

She hiccuped, a high sound in her throat.

She felt Dorian pull her back, a hand over her eyes. “On second thought, I don’t think you should be listening to this.”

She had talked to Dorian about her Uncle Fenris once...

Islen jerked away; she ran.

“Islen!” Someone called after her, and several someones after. She kept running, through the back kitchens and up the stairs until she hit something solid.

“Hey, runt!”

It was the Iron Bull. Islen gripped the leg of his pants tighter, sobbing muffled by the colorful fabric.

“Oh, that’s wet.” He picked her up by the arms and set her on the bar.

The music and most of the talking had stopped. When she chanced a look around, everyone else was looking back _at_ her.

“Now start again because I made out about...none of that.”

“Are you hurt?” Krem held out a handkerchief for her to blow her nose into.

Islen took it, shaking her head. Papa said gentlemen always carried handkerchiefs. The thought made her eyes well up again.

“Oi, who told you to stop playing?”

Sera appeared at her other elbow and the music started again. The talking followed shortly after.

“You’re rubbish with kids, huh?” This was spoken upward, to Bull.

“I’m _excellent_ with children.” He looked between Sera and Islen. “Probably.”

Sera pushed him out of the way. “What’s the matter, squibbins?”

“I _am_ a dwarf!”

“ _All right_?” Sera raised a brow.

“I heard them. They said,” Islen sniffed, burying her nose in the handkerchief and unable to finish.

She looked up when she heard Sera hiss. In the breath of a second, Cole had materialized and was leaning in, whispering something to Sera. She pushed at his shoulder in surprised irritation.

“Eew, creepy!”

Seemingly undeterred, he continued whispering from a farther distance. Sera’s expression fell, her lips pinched. She pretended to lunge at him once, for good measure, before focusing on Islen with a scrutiny she usually reserved for pranks.

“Seems a silly thing to get fussed about."

“I _am_ a dwarf.” Islen sobbed.

Perhaps, if she said it enough, out loud, it would make it true.

“What the hell, Sera?” Krem sighed. “I’m going to find her mum. Can you handle this, Chief?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? _Can I handle this?_ ”

Islen heard a scoff, then felt herself lifted again, held snugly in the crook of Bull’s elbow.

“ _I’m_ bad with kids?” He said to Sera. She saw the elf stick her tongue out and cross her arms. Islen couldn’t help it, she giggled.

The Iron Bull eventually set her down on a soft pillow and Islen realised she was in Sera's bright room.

"Comfortable?” He asked. Islen nodded. "I'm Ben-Hassrath, remember what that means?"

"A spy?" She tried.

"Let’s go with yes for simplicity’s sake." He growled. Most of what Bull said was a growl. "What it _really_ means is, I have a lot of practise figuring anything out about anybody. So why don’t you go ahead and tell me what’s going on. Make it easy on both of us."

Sera made a noise of protestation. "She innit a criminal!"

“Hush, she isn’t crying anymore."

Islen realised she had, indeed, stopped crying. Cole patted her hand in a way that she thought was meant to be comforting. He had likely seen one of the adults do it.

"Besides," Bull continued, "kids like being treated like adults."

Islen wanted to point out that _kids_ also liked being treated as if they were in the room. She didn't.

Instead she told him what she had heard. The thought that had gotten bigger until she understood.

A few of children in Kirkwall were elf-blooded. After the Qunari, and the disease, and improvements in the Alienage, it didn't seem to matter as much, to the elves there, what the ears looked like. Thinking of that...is that why she went to the Alienage so much? Why she liked it? The language?

Islen had always thought she had been learning because of Merrill. Uncle...Fenris never spoke it, after all. He taught her a few funny sounding words in Tevene, but she was pretty certain those were curses because he had gone red round the ears when she asked what they meant. Were they going to send her to live there, with other elves, when she learned enough?

She sucked in a hard breath through her nose.

No, of course not. Mama and Papa had said Dagna could spend the night. And Sarge would hate the draft so close to the docks, she just _knew_ it.

"You're wee." Sera scoffed. "You should be worried about tying your breeches right, not whether you're elfy or dwarfy. 'Sides, your pa's the least dwarfy dwarf I've met."

Bull scratched under his chin. "You wouldn't have this problem in the Qun." Sera elbowed him, roughly. "What? It's true. Though, I can't say it was hard to figure out. You may be little but you're a bit tall, even at six. No offense, I guess."

"I _am_ a dwarf."

This seemed to be a sticking point for Islen. She sipped from her cup. At some point during her explanation, Sera had brought her the sweet drink Bull liked. It had little bits of fluff on the top that tickled her nose. She offered some to Cole who looked at it with a surprising amount of disgust. Islen sighed.

 _But I'm not, am I?_ She thought. _You look human and think spirit. I look human and think dwarf. And it's all nonsense._

"How do dwarves think?" Cole wondered aloud. Islen lifted her shoulders to her ears. "I can hear the Stone, old hollow sounds,"

"Like bells or light, burning far away," Islen placed her cup at her feet.

"I can hear the Stone in you, too. Vines that grow, learning, reaching, changing." Cole made a noise Islen could only describe as a snort. "You're not a human, you're a child!"

"Uh, yeah." Bull stood. "I think what Cole's _trying_ to say is you're Hawke and Varric's kid, first thing. You'll work out the rest later. Or maybe you won't even care. Either way, you should talk to your _parents_ about this. You got half of the information and you freaked out." He reached down to muss her hair. "That's what happens to spies who run off without gathering all the intel."

"Didn't know everything. Hurt people." Cole looked at his hand, face hidden by the brim of his hat once more. " _You_ don't know everything. You’re hurt."

Bull left them and Sera looked to Cole, face twisted. "Can't you go somewhere, too?"

Islen sat up a little straighter. "He makes me feel better."

Sera let out a great breath, placing a few more pillows between Cole and herself. "Suit yourself, creepy bits."

* * *

When she woke in Sera's room, the light was far lower and the occupants had changed. Mama lounged, longways across the pillows where Sera had been. Islen watched her for a few moments.

Mama didn’t get a lot of time to lay around like this, even at home. She seemed relaxed, and the light in her eyes looked like the sun on the docks.

Mama’s head turned very suddenly towards the door behind Islen’s shoulder and she heard Papa’s voice.

“She still knocked out?”

Mama’s ocean eyes moved to her face.

“Seems not.” She smiled slowly. “You know, you’re very _quiet_ when you want to be.”

“I know.” Islen sat up. “You’re pretty, Mama.”

Mama’s cheeks lit up and she looked fondly surprised. “Thank you, Islen.”

“We heard you had a bit of an upset.” Papa sat and she was pulled to his side, nose pressed into her hair. Islen nodded. “You wanna talk about it?”

Islen shook her head. It felt full of the white fluff from her sweet drink.

“Do you care if we talk to _you_ about it?”

Islen thought about this and, after a moment shook her head again.

Mama took a deep breath. “We’re going to talk to you like a grown-up, okay?”

“Okay.” She said and Papa moved her until she could see both of their faces.

“Islen, you’re adopted.”

She felt her lip quiver. “Okay.”

“ _Are_ you okay?” Mama said, after a moment.

“I guess.” Her lip quivered. “But I'm not really a dwarf?"

Mama moved back to sit beside her, pulling her into her lap, “Hey, look at me,” Islen eventually did and allowed her mother to wipe off her face. She wasn’t crying anymore, but it made her feel better anyway. “Do you remember last year when I was really sick?”

“Because of my little brother or sister?”

Mama looked sad. “Yeah, this might not be easy for you to understand right now, but it’s...hard for dwarves and humans to have a baby. Your Uncle Fenris helped.”

“S-Solas said that Uncle Fenris was my father and,”

“No, I’m your father.” Papa leveled a firm look at her. “You may not be a dwarf but that’s not up for discussion.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry.” He rubbed his brow. “You weren’t really meant to find out this way.”

“We _did_ tell you, once, but you were very young, you probably don’t remember.”

Islen had to stretch her head back very far to see Mama’s face. She was smiling, a little nervously.

"You did?"

"Last year, you asked why you went to the Fade when you dreamed. Do you remember that?” Islen felt her brow furrow. Papa crossed his arms over his knees. “It’s all right, sometimes things from that far back are hard to hold onto.”

Islen bit her lip. “Is that why you had Aunt Merrill teach me Elvish?”

She felt Mama’s chest rumble against her back in a laugh. “No, pip, that's just Merrill’s way of caring about you.”

Islen nodded. She reached out, fists balling into Papa’s shirt and pulling herself down into his lap. Arms wrapped around her when she had settled and she felt a gentle kiss in her hair.

“Hush, now.” Papa spoke carefully. “Islen, you have a _very big_ family. We all care about you very much. And we _always_ want you to remember that."

Islen nodded slowly. Of course she knew _that_ but...

"But I'm not..." She sniffed.

"Are you _really_ upset about not being a dwarf?" Islen heard Mama hiss. “Ah, I mean, well.” Above her, Papa coughed. He sounded uncomfortable.

Islen looked up at him. He took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. Mama stood, kissing his temple, then Islen’s forehead.

"I’m going to get those drinks we promised.” She winked, leaving them alone in the room.

“I just always thought...I suppose it was silly to think you'd be relieved to be left out of it.” Papa said, after a moment. “I mean, you’re just starting to see it. There’s a lot of...messed up stuff. Elves, humans, qunari, dwarves, no one's got it right yet, pumpkin. What I mean is," he sighed, “being a dwarf won’t make you _better than_.”

Islen rubbed her nose. “Everyone in Kirkwall thinks I'm a dwarf. Should I tell them?”

"Why should you? They're making their assumptions."

"I feel like I’m fibbing…” She remembered an old dwarf, spitting in her face, and a language she didn’t understand.

Papa lifted her by her armpits to look her in the eye.

"You're the daughter of the Champion of Kirkwall and one of the _most_ successful authors in Thedas."

Islen giggled. She didn’t understand the joke, but Papa was using his funny voice...so it was probably funny. He set her down, voice dropping back to normal.

“That’s not even touching your extended family. You fit in with us. Any other people won't have you, they don't deserve you."

Islen considered this and nodded.

"You're fine, sweetie, and if you're not.” He sighed. “Well, we'll keep talking about it. I've been dealing with it my whole life.” He seemed to be talking half to her, half to himself. “Trust me, you'll be fine."

* * *

The whole bar was full downstairs. In one corner, Dorian and Sera threw swears back and forth like a planned attack. Mama sat at the bar between Krem and Dalish.

Islen hopped down from the last step and, instead of solid ground, found herself lifted to face Bull.

“Put me down!” Islen swung her legs back and forth. “Wait, pick me back up!” She giggled, weightless for a moment.

“I guess you’re feeling better?”

“I did what you said.” She said between breaths.

“Step one of your training is complete.” Bull grinned at her. His teeth looked very sharp.

“And they say we’re bad influences.” She heard Papa say from somewhere behind them.

Eventually, and after much whining, she was set back down. Papa took hold of her hand and led her to the bar. Krem saw her first.

“Hey! Look who it is!”

“It’s me! Islen!” She held her arms out.

“I heard you frightened poor, _sweet_ Ser Pavus!” Dalish smiled at her. She was magic and she had a sharp smile that Islen liked, when she saw it.

Islen looked to the corner where Dorian was leaning back in his chair, smugly satisfied. If she had upset him, he didn’t seem to mind at the moment.

“I’m sorry.” She said, to Mama. She didn’t know _exactly_ what she was apologising for but she _did_ know that ‘generally causing a fright’ could get one into all sorts of trouble.

“I'd like to see him that frazzled more often, to be honest." Mama lifted a shoulder and Krem snorted into his drink. There was a cough behind Islen and Mama’s face twisted. "Though...I _suppose_ I should tell you to apologise to Solas. For the spying."

“But you and Papa _always_ say if you can’t swing a sword, or throw a spell, use your ears, and,”

“Listen well, yes, yes.” Mama groaned. “How is it you remember all of these _sayings_?”

“Aunt Merrill says my brain is a sea sponge!”

They laughed and Islen knew everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Days passed and more people continued their pilgrimage to Skyhold until a muddy, tented city camped outside the Inquisition’s gates. Mother Giselle taught Islen how to plant a flower and Helsima showed her and Dorian some of the creature guts on her table.

She had to go see Dagna every few days now. She was pretty sure the grown-ups didn’t know what they were looking for. Dagna talked in long, breathless conversations, sometimes to herself, but she was nice. Besides, Sandal was down there, too, and he was always fun to watch.

After her third visit, she came out of the Undercroft to see Aunt Bethany in a stunning dress; blue and white and shiny like fish scales.

“Oh, _wonderful_!” Josephine clapped her hands, smile large. “Now take it off quickly. You can’t possibly wear that all the way to Halamshiral.”

“Are you sure? I figure if I rough it up enough, you’d let me talk to Celene in my comfortable clothes.”

Josephine looked very nearly scandalized. “You may not speak to the Empress in...in _sleepwear_!”

Islen ignored the argument in favor of her mother.

“Do you get to wear a pretty dress, Mama?”

“Ah, actually,” Mama smiled “I convinced the jailers to let me stay here.”

“There was little need of convincing.” Bethany said, reaching her arms over her shoulder to try and unhook something. Josephine pressed her lips together, pointing at the door to Bethany’s quarters with a fury on her face that promised action. “I’ll see you before I leave.” Bethany laughed, shuffling towards the door.

Islen watched her go. “It’s good, Mama.”

“What? Me getting to stay here with my favorite girl?” Mama scratched the back of her head and Islen ducked her head away from the ticklish sensation.

“Yeah, I guess.” Islen grinned. She hadn’t considered it that way. “I was just wondering where you put your knives in a dress like _that_.”

“Oh, pip,” Mama tugged her closer, “I’m so glad I never have to worry about it.”

* * *

“What is it?”

Islen looked at the bubbling pool, eyes wide. It was dark as coal, but definitely water. She could smell it. It smelled…clean. She didn’t know if she had ever smelled water so _clean_ before.

“Water that the earth heats up. Solas called it a hot spring.” Mama explained, leaning over her shoulder and sticking her hand in. When she pulled back it was pink, as though she’d scrubbed it raw, but she seemed largely unharmed.

Papa looked at the water, then at Mama’s hand. “And I _still_ call it, ‘a terrible idea’, not that it matters.”

Mama put her hands on her hips. “Fatherhood has made you soft, Varric.”

“I don’t like the mountains, Hawke. And I’ll bet that little,” he motioned to the water, “lake is teeming with creatures.”

“Well, Islen and me are getting in.”

She helped Islen out of her coat, then her shirt and breeches. The frost in the air hit her skin like a slap and Islen shuffled from foot to foot, ready to _leap_ into the water.

“It’s too bad we won’t have you to protect us.” Mama sounded wistful.

Islen’s earlier courage dissipated at the splash of a larger bubble. She dipped a toe in and, at the spread of warmth through her foot, let the rest of her leg follow.

“Bah, don’t pretend you need me.”

Papa looked grumpy but he sounded pleased. Islen ignored them, using her arms to wriggle down the side of the rocky pool.

“But I _do_ need you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to take care of…”

“Yes?”

“Um...take care of yourself.”

“I _could_ do that, but help is always nice.”

“Mama!” Islen was half in the water and Mama was just standing around, talking at Papa with her clothes off! “You’re so slow! Hurry up!”

“We’re coming.”

Islen paddled in small circles, resisting the urge to duck her head beneath the surface to escape the chill. Mama picked her up from behind, carrying her on her knee and spinning her around until she was dizzy and had to cling to the rocks.

Papa joined them, eventually, and looked mostly relaxed against the craggy pool right up until Mama splashed him. Islen covered her mouth to stop herself laughing.

“No one will know if I drown you up here.”

“Islen will.” Mama swam closer, settling herself snugly against his side. “ _And_ she’s a horrible gossip.”

“Oh? You’re putting your life in the hands of our daughter’s _attention span_?”

“Mama! Papa! Watch!” Islen used a lower rock shelf to launch herself out of the water, letting the cold seep through her body. “When you jump out and go back in,” she turned, sitting on the ground and sliding back into the water. “It makes the water warmer again!”

“You’re right.” Mama shook her head, hiding a smile. “I’m doomed.”

They let Islen play for a while longer drying her off with a blanket and giving her a piece of bread to tear into. Then they unhitched the horses and bundled her up in more blankets for the trip back.

Islen was glad they had missed the silly party.

* * *

Islen crawled into bed, catching snatches of conversations as she fell in and out of sleep.

_“No story? That’s a surprise.”_

_“The heat, probably.”_

_“Dagna found anything?”_

_“Nothing yet.”_ A snort. _“Nothing I understand.”_

_“We can’t help her and I don’t go into the field, anymore. What are we doing here?”_

_“Feeling useless, apparently.”_

Islen yawned, rolling over to watch her parents settle into their bed.

_“Does Bethany seem lighter to you?”_

_“Marian, I’m surprised at you. Saying such things about your own sister.”_

_“You know what I mean!”_ A laugh. _“I’m serious, Varric. **Advise** me.”_

_“Well what do we know about Sunshine? Your parents told her what to do, then you. She's been scared her whole life.”_

A sigh. _“She was probably still scared in Orlais.”_

_“It can't be easy when her older sister is as majestic, inspiring, sumptuous,”_

_“Oh stop.”_ A beat. _“No, don't **actually** stop. I liked that bit.”_

_“Speaking as a younger sibling, she's probably just happy to have something to do that's **hers**.”_

_“I wish the Hawke’s could claim some less...dangerous responsibilities.”_

A kiss. _“On that we’re agreed.”_

* * *

When Aunt Bethany came home, a bird-looking woman stood tall beside her.

“Who’s that?”

“The _Lady_ Morrigan.” Vivienne said, face twisted in such a way that Islen was sure she must have smelled something terrible. “And, of course, her son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am all in with damalur’s bookclub headcanon (see: Greatly Approved). Dagna and Cassandra and Dorian and a few others meet up and read Varric’s books when he’s right there, yes please. And, no, Dagna will likely not be going back to Kirkwall anytime soon, haha (I just know a lot of kids who love inviting people over to show off how awesome their stuff is...which is a lot like adulthood, come to think of it).
> 
> Describing the way the Stone or a Spirit sounds/feels/looks is almost impossible for Islen. It may be easier for Cole who has a foot in both words. But imagine it as when you have a sensation and all you can think is, "Oh, it's like when you walk past a wall of flowers and catch the scent!" and maybe 3 people understand you and the others are lost, haha.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long break between chapters while I worked on the Hightown Funk Fic Exchange (and if you haven’t seen the amazing stuff that came out of that, go check it out!) so sorry about that, haha! This chapter puts the kid in kidfic, featuring wren’s ([tumblr here](http://kindervenom.tumblr.com)) Aeducan/Alistair offspring, Emmy. She’s been sharing adorable headcanons with me for months now, so many thanks <3
> 
> Also, as always, many thanks to kazzashepard my patient beta who dealt with this, on top of my other works for the exchange. She’s a saint <3 The art below is by her and can be found on her tumblr ([here](http://goddamnelsa.tumblr.com))

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kieran, Islen had decided, was strange.

It wasn't because he refused to do pranks with her or only ever wanted to study. And it wasn’t because he talked with his nose up, half the time, and had eyes like bird’s eyes (though she silently admitted that that _was_ a part of it).

There was a hollow sound in Kieran. Not sweet like lyrium. Explosions underwater or a ramshackle roof collapsing. Old sounds. Strange sounds.

Islen’s First Sight almost never steered her wrong and the pull behind her eyes was telling her, now, to keep away from him.

So, naturally, she found herself around him almost all of the time.

Whenever she looked up, there he was, usually with his mother or behind a book.

He was there now, across the library and bothering Dorian, no doubt.

Islen had had enough. Fuming, she marched the length of the circular floor, footsteps stomping as she went.

"Stop following me!"

Kieran’s eyes went wide, then narrow _very_ quickly. “I’m not _following_ you!”

“You are! You're always around!”

“This isn’t exactly Halamshiral.” He huffed. She didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded insulting so she narrowed her eyes back at him. “Besides, I was _here_ before you. If anything, you followed me.”

“No.” Islen jutted her chin out. “Go away.”

“I've a right to be here same as you.” He said. And added, as an afterthought: “Stop annoying me.”

 _What?_ Islen’s eyes widened. She wasn’t annoying! _He_ , well...he was...she felt her breath quicken.

“ _You’re_ weird!” She shouted, fists balled at her sides. She wanted to shove him, but Papa had warned her against shoving when she was flustered.

Kieran crossed his arms. “I’m ten and a half years old. I think I know who of us is the weird one.”

And then he _scoffed_

Islen felt tears prick at the back of her eyes.

Kieran blinked. “Are you crying?”

“No!” Islen swiped at her eyes. “It’s cause you were making fun of me! Y-you called me annoying!”

“You started it!” He pointed at her, sounding panicked. “You said I was following you! You told me to go away!”

“As entertaining as all of this is,” both children jumped at Dorian’s voice, “I think I’ve heard all I want to.” He lowered his book and raised a brow. “Do I need to call your parents?”

Islen whipped her head back to Kieran, who looked pinned to the spot. “I’m _not_ weird!”

And, before she stormed off, stuck out her tongue for good measure.

* * *

Islen didn’t go far. Her energy ran out as soon as she hit Solas’ room and realised she would need to return to the second story to get the toys she had left there. She sat on his table, watching Solas paint in small strokes and in the hopes that Kieran would leave soon.

“...and then he said that he knew better because he was ten.” Islen picked at the wood on the table.

“Yes, I heard.” Solas stepped off the last rung of the ladder, wiping off his hands with a towel. “There is little privacy between the floors of this place. Something I learned from first hand experience.” He gave her a knowing look.

She blushed. “Sorry...again.”

“I would feel better if you learned from your mistakes.”

“I’m not weird. Papa doesn’t like _weird shit_.” Islen’s hands flew to her mouth as soon as the words left.

Solas chuckled. “It’s just a word. You give it power when you treat it as though it has any.” He picked her up under the elbows, setting her on the ground and straightening some of his papers. “Weird. Supernatural. Eerie. It would frighten your father, as he has no connection to the Fade. Yet witness how he treats Cole.”

“Papa doesn’t care about spirits he can see. It’s the magic he _can’t_ see that makes him, um,” she used her whole body to shudder, shaking out her limbs. Her bracelet slipped from her arm and clattered to the floor. She scooped to pick it up and put it back on.

“I’ve noticed your lyrium ring, but I’ve not seen you wear that before.” Solas’ eyes focused on her wrist. “Is it a recent gift?”

“I’ve had it since before I was born.” She held the bracelet above her head. “It’s made from Eluvian glass.”

Solas offered out a hand. “May I?”

Islen slid the trinket off easily and let him examine it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It lets you talk to people if you have another one.” She explained. “My Aunt Merrill made it. Aunt Bianca helped.”

“Bianca...the dwarf?”

Islen nodded.

“Extraordinary.” Solas swallowed and fastened the bracelet back around her wrist. “I would keep this hidden, da’len, particularly from Lady Morrigan.”

“Why?” She twisted the bracelet around. “It doesn’t work if it’s not near another piece.”

Solas opened his mouth to speak, when his eyes caught something. “You have a visitor.”

“Hello." A voice drew her attention to the opposite side of the room where Kieran stood at the foot of the stairs, looking very uncomfortable.

“I think I’ll take a walk.” Solas shook his head slightly, moving towards the door.

“But this is your room.” Islen wrinkled her nose.

“And I shouldn’t keep myself inside of it all day.” He tapped her hand as he passed her. “Remember what I said, Islen.”

Islen had already forgotten some of their conversation so she raised her eyebrows and hoped she looked convincing.

Solas talked an awful lot.

Islen turned to Kieran, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was no longer looking at her but at the paintings and with undisguised awe. He moved further into the room and, when he reached her, swayed a little before speaking. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

Islen thought about saying that she _didn’t_ cry, but it seemed like a silly thing to say at this point. Instead she kicked the ground in front of her and mumbled out, “I’m sorry for yelling at you, too. And for saying you were weird.” She added. “That’s not nice.”

"I think I'm weird myself, if it helps." He said, reasonably. He set something wrapped in cloth on the table between them. “I brought a peace offering.”

She examined the contents of his gift and smiled. Kieran had brought her cheese.

Maybe he wasn’t _so_ bad.

* * *

Leliana sat around their table, for the second time, and Islen began setting out her toys in case the spymaster wanted to see the play Kieran had helped her put together since the last time she had visited.

“What’s this about?” Papa coughed pointedly. “And do I need to take _someone_ on a walk?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Leliana shook her head. “I received a missive from Alistair Theirin. He wishes for _both_ of the Hawke siblings to meet with him.”

“Alistair… _that_ name takes me back.” Papa rubbed a hand along his chin.

“He’s the head of the Grey Warden chapter in Ferelden.” Leliana explained, laying her arms on the table.

“No!” Papa snapped his fingers loudly. His head turned to Mama. “He was that Grey Warden who scarpered off before the Arishok gutted you!”

“Think he’ll be wanting his ring back?” Mama laughed quietly. She stared across the table at Leliana. “More importantly, any particular reason we’re being told first? Do I need to steer Bethany clear of this? Stay away myself? What’s your gambit here?"

“Exactly the opposite.” Leliana smiled. “I’d like you to do as he asks.”

Mama looked unsure.

“Despite your personal history, he was a trusted friend to the Warden.” Leliana gave Islen a significant look. "And you two have something in common."

“Papa,” Islen pulled at his sleeve, bored of their conversation. “Can I show Leliana my new play?”

“In a minute, sweetheart.” He bent to kiss the top of her head. Islen huffed, retreating to the other side of the room.

Behind her she heard Leliana continue speaking. “There is something I had wished to keep between the three of us, for the moment...”

* * *

“Kieran!” Islen ran into the garden at full speed, waving at Mother Giselle as she passed. “Oh, hello, Morrigan.”

“Islen.” Morrigan nodded, smiling soft and eyes sharp.

Morrigan was nicer than she looked _and_ she had an Eluvian. A _whole_ one! Islen had remembered what Solas had told her about her bracelet, but it seemed like Morrigan knew before she even brought it up, asking to examine it in much the same way the elf had.

Islen wondered if she could read minds.

“Kieran is studying.” Morrigan said.

 _Mind reader…_ Islen thought with wonder.

Islen could have guessed that was where Kieran was. He was _always_ studying. And Sera and Cole had gone with Mama and Aunt Bethany to see the Warden.

There was no one to play with.

Above her, Morrigan gave a little sigh. “I suppose he could use a break.”

“Thank you, Morrigan!” Islen called over her shoulder, already running in the opposite direction.

* * *

“Keep still!” Islen hissed.

“You’re heavy!”

Islen had let Kieran pick where they should play. To her surprise, he had chosen the stables, and spent most of their walk there telling her about his favorite horse breeds. Islen now found herself balanced atop his shoulders, attempting to reach for one of the horse’s soft snouts.

“What are you two doing?”

Blackwall watched the children topple over with a cry.

Islen would have been more upset, but she hadn’t gotten _really_ hurt and, to make up for scaring them, Blackwall opened the gate, fully, and helped them both pet the creatures.

Overall, she considered it a successful study break.

* * *

When her mother returned, Islen ran to her and was lifted in a hug. Mama was covered in filth, and Islen said as much.

“Did you miss me?” Mama set her down.

“I did, I did!” Islen smiled. “Was it scary? What did you do?”

“I caught a mouse.” She pinched Islen’s cheek and found her hand swatted away.

Papa raised a brow. “You didn’t run into any trouble?”

“The usual sort.” Mama said. “We’ll need to go to Adamant, but I’ve convinced him to wait for word from our _expert_ on blood magic before we proceed.”

“Do we have that kind of time?”

“...I don’t know.”

Islen heard a low, hollow sound, and searched for Kieran. She looked around her mother’s leg at the scene unfolding behind them.

There was Morrigan and Fiona and, between them, stood a man in full Warden armour. Islen’s eyes were drawn to the Griffon on his chest and she tuned out her parents to openly stare.

Movement at the man’s legs drew her eyes downward and she saw a girl, even smaller than herself with pale skin and copper hair, holding his hand and staring at Islen with wide, curious eyes.

Islen let go of Mama’s hand to wander closer to them, opening her First Sight as she walked. The grown-ups were too preoccupied to notice her.

Islen recognized the taint inside the Warden. She heard it in Uncle Anders, behind lightning, behind Justice; the scream of Darkspawn she had never met. The girl surprised her. What she thought were old sounds, like Kieran, sharpened to something sick. Nails digging into her shoulders, the last gulp of air underwater. Boxed in, dark things.

Islen closed her eyes, breathed deep, and opened them again. The noise was gone.

“She's...Derry’s. How?”

“Morrigan, surely _you_ know where babies come from.”

“You know what I mean! It's impossible!”

Fiona interrupted, quiet but firm. “Unlikely. Not impossible.”

“Hi.” Islen waved at the girl. She ducked her head a little in response.

Above her, the talking had ebbed to silence. The man was the first to speak. “Hello, I’m Alistair.”

“I like your Griffon.” Islen pointed at his chestplate.

“Oh,” he looked down, as if noticing his armour for the first time, “thank you! Ah, this is my daughter, Emery. Emmy, say hello.”

“Hello.” Emery squeaked.

“I didn't know there would be other children here.” His eyes flicked up.

“ _My_ daughter, Islen.” Islen heard Mama call, from behind her. “And twice the trouble.”

“Mouse,” Alistair kneeled beside the girl, lifting her chin gently with a hand. “Why don't you go play?”

“Come on.” Islen held out a hand and Emery took it silently. “I’ll show you my favorite spots.”

* * *

“This is Kieran.” Islen presented the boy, set in front of a book once more, as though presenting a row of trophies. “He’s my second best friend.”

“Hello.” Emery said, a little more sure of herself. She even managed a smile.

Kieran stared at Emery with vague interest, like he’d discovered a bruise of unknown origin, before turning back to his book. “Hello.”

Islen rolled her eyes. “I’m going to give her a tour. Come help.”

“I already got into trouble for ripping my good breeches at the stables. I shan’t do it again.” He stuck his chin out, eyes not leaving the page.

“Fine.” Islen turned. “But you can’t say we left you out later!”

Islen was glad Kieran had spoken to Emery, at least. They were the only three children in Skyhold and, by her logic, this meant they had to stick together.

“My first best friend is Sera but you can meet her later.” Islen said, leading Emery out of the library. “Where are you from?”

She shrugged. “Papa moves us a lot.”

“Oh. I’m from Kirkwall. How long are you staying?”

“I know we’re spending the night.” Emery replied, sounding hopeful.

After a half-day with the girl, Islen understood why Alistair had called her ‘Mouse’. Emery was small, and quiet, and could probably sneak around better than she did (and Islen _knew_ she was good at sneaking). A thought struck her and Islen grabbed her hand.

“Wanna see something neat?”

Emery bit her lip, nodding quickly. “Yes please!”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Islen watched Emery stare at the stacks of books in the smaller library, lit in blue. They had snuck down to the cellars and past the drinks. This was one of the downstairs places Islen wasn’t allowed, but Emery was _so quiet_!

“What is this place?” Emery looked around.

Islen stared at her with open curiosity. “Have you never been inside a library?”

“Of course I have!” Emery blushed. “I’ve been to loads of them!” She looked around. “None of them looked as scary as this.”

“Yeah…” Islen nodded. “This is just a creepy room with books. A library- _eerie_.”

Emery’s eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Islen scratched her nose. Perhaps she hadn’t mastered puns as well as she thought. She’d ask Mama and Papa, later.

“Hey, who’s in there?” A voice called from the top of the stairs. Islen jumped, looking around herself.

No where to run.

“Tulleck! I think I saw kids down here!”

“Run!” Islen hissed.

She grabbed Emery’s hand, shoving past one of Leliana’s scouts, standing at the door of the library and sprinting blindly onward. Left, right, another left. Islen didn’t think anyone was following them by the time her legs stopped moving. She bent over to catch her breath, Emery leaning on the wall beside her.

“Mouse!” Islen said, between breaths. “That was amazing! You’re fast, too!”

Emery smiled, blushing a little.

When she looked up she saw a large door, wood and barred with steel.

“I’ve never been this deep down.” Islen admitted, pushing on it and not expecting it to give way. She made a little noise of surprise when it opened at her touch.

The inside was horseshoe-shaped and the floor looked like it could crumble beneath her every step. Rows of barred rooms stretched on each side and Islen gulped.

She didn’t have to see to know; there were men in those cells.

A hard breeze beat the walls between its two sides and nearly covered the discordant groans, but it couldn’t hide the sounds inside them and Islen covered her ears.

Emery’s grip was steadying on her shoulder and the noise disappeared, leaving only the sound of wind. “Are you okay?”

Islen smiled and nodded.

Suddenly, a skeletal hand shot out of the dark space next to her head. Emery _squeaked_. Islen, not so dignified, screamed into the air.

“Over here!” A familiar voice called and the hand tugged Islen into a tunnel she had yet to notice. Visions of white, bone fingers danced behind tightly closed lids and she swatted at the hand gripping tightly to her wrist. “Stupid, it’s me!”

Islen opened her eyes, looking directly into familiar, almost glowing eyes.

“Kieran?” She blinked, noticing he had to hunch to fit in the tunnel. With the arm behind him, he held onto Emery’s hand and was ushering her forward.

“Come _on_!” He grabbed at Islen again, this time by the sleeve. “You’re going to get us in _trouble_!”

Islen looked over her shoulder, stepping on Kieran’s heels as the three shuffled through the narrow passage. Eventually, they saw light; the stone around them turned to mud under Islen’s hand and the hardness beneath her feet to something softer.

Emery broke out first, and sat on the grass with a harsh breath. Kieran followed, and Islen fell beside the others, laughing a little.

“Where are we?” She asked, when she managed to stop.

“Just outside of Skyhold.” Kieran pointed up, still catching his breath. “See? That’s the Inquisitor's balcony. I saw her kissing Scout Harding last week.”

Islen tackled him. “That’s my aunt so you’d better not be fibbing!”

“I don’t _fib_.” Kieran said, almost proud. He stared up at her, eyes defiant and chin stuck out comically far. Islen rolled off of him and onto her back.

“It doesn’t matter. Kissing’s gross anyway. Right, Mouse?” She turned her head. Beside her, Emery was staring, wide-eyed at the hole where they had exited. “...Emmy?”

“That…” She ducked her head, seeming unable to finish.

“Are you okay?’ Islen sat on her elbow.

“That was amazing!” She laughed and, when she turned to look at Islen, her eyes were shining. “Can we do it again?”

A smile broke over Islen’s face. “Sure! Only, next time, let’s bring Cole. He can make us invisible!”

“Neat!”

“Ugh.” Kieran rolled over, deciding plausible deniability was the safest route.

Anyway, he could use a nap.

* * *

The first thing Islen did that night was tell her parents about her grand adventure.

“You probably shouldn’t have been down there, Islen.” Papa said, looking at Mama with a frown.

“Maybe they need better guards.” Mama tousled Islen’s hair and she pressed her head into her mother’s palm. “Or maybe this one inherited my penchant for exciting escapades!”

Papa chuckled, handing Mama a stack of letters. “Let’s see if she can help you get out of responding to these.”

“Any word from Anders in here?”

“No luck there. Maybe if you get Islen to sign something?”

“I can write to Nana.” She hung on to Mama’s arms, trying to steal a look at the letters in her hand. “I have loads of new stuff to tell him.”

Mama smiled at her. “Go wash your face.”

Which meant, to Islen, _I want to tell your father something that I don’t want you to listen to too closely._ Islen pretended to do as she was told, keeping an ear towards the door.

She heard a shuffling of papers and Mama’s hushed voice.

“I’m worried about this false Calling.”

“We knew it was a risk with Corypheus, especially given what happened to Islen. And you heard Alistair; it’s localized. Hopefully Blondie’s far enough away that it won’t matter. Let’s just focus on what’s in front of us.”

“Yeah.” Mama chuckled. “His kid’s something else. It’s a good thing Leliana came to talk to us.”

“Words you don’t hear often.” Papa laughed. “I’m just glad Islen has someone here her own age.”

“And it’s nice to have someone to talk to about, well...”

“Height differences?”

“I was going to say ‘children with vague, unsettling powers’, but I’m sure that’ll be interesting when we get around to it. Thanks for the idea.”

“I live to serve.”

Islen rolled her eyes at the sound of kissing.

* * *

Papa had taken Islen to the stables when one of the scouts interrupted them, looking very uncomfortable.

Maybe he was afraid of horses, Islen thought with a great amount of sympathy.

“Ser Tethras, there is someone here to see the Champion of Kirkwall and her...beardless Paragon of Manliness.”

“They actually said that?” Blackwall, who had lifted her to pet the horses, lowered her to the ground. “And you _repeated_ it?”

“Rivani!” Papa laughed, and pushed Islen forward by the shoulders. “Kid! Go get your mom and tell her Aunt Isabela’s here!”

“But she's in the big room!” Islen ran ahead, despite her protestation.

“Trust me, sweetheart, war can wait.”

* * *

Aunt Aveline said that Isabela always brought a bit of a commotion.

“Isabela...why does that name strike a familiar chord?” Morrigan turned to Leliana who was smiling, and a deep red. “Ah yes,” she laughed, “ _that_ Isabela.”

Mama ran around the table to pull Islen out of the room. She felt like a ragdoll, tossed around so much.

Apparently, in the face of _that Isabela_ , war _would_ wait.

* * *

Isabela hugged Mama for a long time and Islen was thinking about going back to the stables when they finally pulled apart.

“I've sailed half a sea,” Isabela swiped quickly at her eyes. “I should not have to traverse the Vimmarks to see my bloody godchild.”

“You know we only do it to inconvenience you, Rivaini.” Papa reached out to clasp arms with her and was pulled into a similarly long hug.

“I'm sorry, love.” She heard Isabela chuckle. “How are you? Chest hair all intact?”

Islen picked her nose.

“Taking care of _three_ Hawkes now.” Papa said, when they stepped away from one another.

“I knew our ray of sunshine was running this operation, but to actually see it?” Isabela whistled.

Papa shook his head. “They don’t pay me enough.”

“You’d pay _me_.” Mama snorted. “Fenris?”

“Towards the Anderfels, helping a blonde friend of ours, when we last spoke.” Isabela laughed. “Aveline's going to have the most boring months of her life, with us rabble rousers gone all at once.”

“I can write Orana, ask her to stir up trouble.”

“Yes, it's always the quiet ones you have to worry about.”

“Speaking of quiet,” Isabela kneeled to look at Islen, whose finger was still stuck firmly inside of her nose. Islen removed it quickly, wiping it on the front of her shirt. “How is my dearest, most diabolical niece?”

Isabela was wearing a big fluffy coat and her hair was pulled back. She smelled like salt and some kind of oil that reminded Islen of the docks at home.

“I’m good.” Islen said.

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Isabela grinned. “Want to get up to some trouble?”

“Well, Cole said he wanted to do something for the cooks.” She felt a hand on her head and looked up to see Mama, staring at her, expectantly.

“You haven’t seen your Aunt Isabela in a long time, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” Islen nodded. “She went away.”

“I’m here now.” Isabela’s face looked pinched when she spoke. “Why don’t we all go to the tavern, hm? Bet it doesn’t hold a candle to the Hanged Man.”

“Cole’s probably in the tavern.” Islen considered this. “And you could meet the Chargers.”

“Chargers, eh? They sound like my sort.”

“Isabela…” Papa’s tone was warning. Mama laughed.

“I know, I know.” Isabela picked her up and Islen considered how rarely that happened now. She was getting bigger.

She nuzzled into the soft fur of her aunt’s shoulder and felt a strong arm pull her tighter to her chest.

* * *

The Chargers liked Isabela. The Chargers liked everyone. Islen sat, squished between her aunt and Grim, and listening to the chorus of laughter, her mother’s and the Iron Bull’s competing above the noise of the others to be heard. She felt something nudge at her hand and found Grim holding out a small candy and stalwartly avoiding her gaze.

Grim was quiet, but he slipped her lots of treats when the others weren’t watching. Islen took this one, like the rest, to store in her pocket for later.

Islen hoped no one noticed when she wiggled off the bench and headed for the stairs.

“Cole?” She called, rounding the last flight.

Cole wasn’t there and Islen didn’t hear him anywhere nearby. She huffed and moved to sit at the railing; her legs swinging out below and her arms hugging the bars.

Islen knew Aunt Merrill and Aveline and Uncle Fenris. They were with her all the time. She knew Uncle Anders and Aunt Bethany, who wrote to her, and weren’t allowed to come home, even though they wanted to.

Islen got letters from Aunt Isabela, too, and presents every nameday and boxes of fruit and strange things. She knew Isabela had a boat called the Siren’s Call and, sometimes, went on long trips with no ports to send letters from. She knew that Isabela loved her and missed her and she would write again, soon, she promised. And these were all things that Islen had read on paper or heard from Mama and Papa and not things she knew about the woman herself.

What Islen knew most about Aunt Isabela was that she could be wherever she wanted to be and where she wanted to be wasn’t near _Kirkwall_.

Unwrapping her candy and popping the treat into her mouth, she watched the grown ups below her.

Islen didn’t want to hear more of Aunt Isabela’s sea stories.

* * *

“Wake up, kitten.”

Islen woke with a start.

“Oh, that can’t be comfortable.” She heard Aunt Isabela’s low chuckle.

Islen had fallen asleep against the bars. Her neck _hurt_.

“Did you get bored?” Isabela was kneeling beside her, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t like it when you go away.” Islen rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Why don’t you stay at home with us?”

Isabela, to her shock, didn’t look mad or even sad. She _laughed_. “Islen, I’m a pirate. The sea is my home.”

Islen’s entire face wrinkled. “I don’t get it.”

Isabela flicked her nose. “Well, you wouldn’t! You’re _not_ a pirate are you?”

Islen laughed. “No!”

“I didn’t think so.” Isabela smiled. “Do you want to live here forever, instead of Kirkwall?”

Islen shook her head. “It’d be too cold for Sarge. And I’d have to move all my stuff!”

“But you’re having a good time?” Islen nodded. Isabela raised her eyebrows, then slumped. “Wow, you really do have to connect all the dots with children, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Nothing, kitten.” She coughed. “Listen; me living in Kirkwall and leaving the sea forever would be like you living here and leaving Kirkwall forever. Do you understand.”

Islen considered this for a moment, her brain still sleep-addled. “Because you’d miss it?”

Isabela sighed, smiling widely. “Exactly.”

“Okay.” Islen grinned back. “But you’ll still visit?”

“Of course I will!” Isabela picked her up in a single, deft motion. “Do you know how much I can get for a good bottle of brandy on the black market there?”

* * *

Isabela tucked her in that night and, instead of a story, Islen sang to her a few of the songs the Chargers had taught her. Isabela was, as she had guessed she would be, impressed and clapped after each.

She fell asleep, convincingly, after that and waited until she heard the sounds of cupboards opening and drinks being poured in the adjacent room to sneak out of bed and crouch by the door’s small opening.

“Islen’s going to be excited to see some of her stuff.” Mama was sorting through a bag on the table.

“And Rivani pulls ahead as favorite aunt of the week.” Papa clinked his glass to Isabela’s across the table.

“It wasn’t any trouble.” Isabela leaned back in her chair, boots on the table and all. “It was on my way, really.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, but thank you just the same.”

“The hardest part was convincing Merrill not to come.” She laughed. “Good thing I didn’t know about the Eluvian. There would have been no keeping her off the boat.”

Islen straightened. That was the third time in the span of a few days she had heard the mirror mentioned. She tried to rub the goosepimples off her arms.

“While we’re on that subject,” Isabela took a long drink before finishing her thought. “Mind telling me why it is we’re keeping her away?”

“Expert on blood magic is better kept on paper.” Papa took a lengthy drink from his own glass.

“He had a hard enough time convincing me to let you come.” Mama said, setting the bag aside. “I’m not willing to risk bringing Merrill all the way out here just because we’re a little homesick and, well, frankly out of our depth.”

“And Anders?” Isabela raised a brow. “You don’t think _that’s_ a risk?”

“We just want to make sure he’s safe.” Mama held up her hands. “I mean, would it really kill him to write more often?”

Isabela laughed. “Oh you have become such a mother.”

“I guess I have.” Mama smiled. “Speaking of that, have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

“No.” Isabela shifted and her boots landed, heavily, on the ground. “I thought I made my feelings on the matter clear.”

“Come on, Rivaini.” Papa scratched his neck. “We’re trying to be responsible here.”

“You’ve been responsible.” She clipped out. “And I’m not taking responsibility for a child who seems perfectly happy and healthy where she is.” She looked between them. “Don’t ask me again.”

“We are not _selling_ her,” Papa dropped his head to his hands and Mama shook her head, desperately. “We’re trying to do the right thing!”

“A dragon burned us out of our last safe house.” Mama said, a little more placating.

“So what? Are you going to send her away every time something scary happens. I don’t know when you started fooling yourselves, but you have always been _dangerous_ people. That is your life. You knew that when Islen was born then and you know that now.”

Islen blinked. They were talking about her. About sending her away so she wouldn’t get hurt. In many ways, she felt dragged back to the stairs of her home in Kirkwall, before she was told she would be staying with Aunt Bethany in Orlais.

Crying hadn’t helped then, she thought, blinking away her tears. And here she was, still with her parents.

She curled her arms around her knees and watched.

There was silence for a long time. Mama was the first to speak. “We can’t keep her here.”

“Sure you can. From what you told me, she’s getting more help here than she ever did in Kirkwall.” Isabela said. “It’s a war, something terrible could happen any day. Trust me I know all the lines in the book.”

Isabela leaned forward and held Mama’s hand.

“More importantly, this is her...magic.” She whispered. “This is her future. I don’t care if she’s six or sixteen. Don’t push her away. Talk to her.”

“We _can’t_ tell her everything, Isabela.”

“Tell her something.” Isabela’s voice softened. “Stop making excuses that none of us believe. I’ve known you far too long.”

Mama looked at Papa who made a face that Islen took to mean he had been caught out.

Islen stuck her head through the door. The three grown ups jumped at the creak it made. “Does this mean I don’t have to go on the boat?”

Mama and Papa stared at her, horrified. Isabela held her belly and laughed.

“Islen, you cheeky little rogue!” She opened her arms to the girl. “Come here! How long have you been standing there.”

“Um,” Islen thought about this. “Since Mama said you brought me presents?”

“I did, indeed.” Isabela smiled. “Would you like to see them?”

Islen walked towards her and looked at her parents, still silently staring at her through wide eyes. “I’m supposed to be in bed.”

“Well, you’ve already broken one rule.” Isabela pulled her up into her lap. “Why not break a few more?”

Aunt Isabela had brought her clothes and a few of her toys and even letters from Aunt Aveline and Aunt Merrill.

Islen thought it was too bad Isabela hadn't gotten to tell Merrill about the Eluvian. Well, she thought, as she was tucked in for the second time that night, she would have to mention it in her next letter.

* * *

Isabela left, without Islen and with another promise to come visit Kirkwall after all of _this mess_ was over. Islen sat in one of Aunt Bethany’s high window sills, eyes narrowed in an attempt to see out to the coast, though she hadn’t asked _which_ coast and...come to think of it she didn’t know the direction of any.

“Islen?” She started at the sound of Emery’s voice behind her.

“Mouse!” Islen clung to the sides of the window. “I didn’t hear you!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Emery was looking around, arms drawn in tightly to her chest. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here.” She whispered.

“It’s just Aunt Bethany’s room.” Islen scoffed and began shimmying down one of the drapes. Her foot snagged on one of the tassels at the last few feet and she felt her grip slip.

“Woah!” Emery rushed forward in an attempt to catch her. The girls landed together and, for the most part, flat on their backs.

“Thanks, Emmy.” Islen lifted herself up and held out a hand. “You’re a good cushion.”

“Uh-huh.” Emery coughed, eyes a little watery. “Islen, I need to tell you something important!”

That’s right. Emery probably wouldn’t have gone somewhere she wasn’t supposed to alone otherwise. “What’s wrong?”

She lowered her voice. “Your papa’s mad at my papa.”

“No, he’s not.” Islen laughed, without thinking. At the look on Emery’s face, she added, “Papa doesn’t get mad at his friends.”

Islen hadn’t gotten to know Alistair very well, but she had seen Papa sharing drinks with the man at the tavern when she was with Cole. He made silly jokes, like Mama, and Papa laughed and hit the larger man’s back. To her mind, this made them friends.

“Well he isn’t _happy_.” Emery grabbed her wrist. “Come on, they’re in the hall!”

Emery was right. Papa wasn’t happy and he wasn’t trying to be quiet.

“She went to meet you in Crestwood, why do you need her for this?”

Alistair looked a little cowed. “I don’t-”

Islen felt a pressure on her back. She let go of Emery’s hand when she saw Mama, watching the back and forth with a little wrinkle between her brow. “Varric, I _asked_ to go.”

“Oh, _come on_.” Papa sounded frustrated in a way that promised shouting and was giving Mama a look Islen had only seen directed towards Cassandra.

 _Maybe Papa **does** get mad at his friends._ She thought, pulling in her bottom lip and clinging to Mama’s fingers.

Mama pulled her up to her hip and the motion she made with her head must have been for Papa, because he followed them to a corner in a silent fume.

“Stop pretending you’re angry.”

Varric sighed. “I’m frustrated, Hawke. You’re leaving _today_. Why didn’t you-”

“If I told you, you’d try to talk me out of it and, knowing you, you might just pull it off.” Mama set Islen gently on the ground, running a hand over her head. “I know as hard as I’ve been working to keep our friends away from here, _you’ve_ been working overtime trying to keep me stuck in that stuffy room and out of whatever war you think I shouldn’t be a part of.”

He lifted a brow. “That’s rich, coming from you. _Today_.”

“We started this.” She lowered her voice. “The _Hawkes_ are all tied up in this. I can’t let Bethany handle it on her own.”

“She has armies, Marian.” Papa laughed. It wasn’t his real laugh, but at least he didn’t sound mad anymore. “I get it. Corypheus and us, we’ve got history. We need to keep that history _away_ from the fighting.”

“This isn’t about us or my father.” Mama said. “We’ve got a personal stake in this, Varric.”

Papa held the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

Islen didn’t understand why she was here. She never got to hear Mama and Papa talk like this. Not on purpose, anyway. Then, Mama’s eyes slid to her and, in a startling moment of clarity, she understood.

_Tell her something._

This was about what Isabela had said. About her First Sight. Mama was leaving because of her and, for whatever reason, she wanted Islen to know. Islen almost understood the _why_. She knew that Mama wasn’t leaving because she didn’t love her (after all she was nearly seven now and not a child at all), but to do something for her. What that was, she had not an inkling.

So she asked.

Islen tugged on Mama’s sleeve and was rewarded with a near blinding smile. “Is this about my...” Islen wiggled her fingers, not wanting to say the word out loud.

Mama nodded, pushing back a piece of her hair. Mama liked to play with her hair and Islen got it so messy that there was plenty to comb out with fingers or brushes. She held Mama’s hand to her head, trapping her fingers there.

“Dagna’s right.” Mama was talking to Papa again. “ _Something_ put that noise in our daughter's head, even for a second. Maybe it's at Adamant, maybe it isn’t.” She said. “Aren’t you getting a little tired of secondhand information?”

Islen released Mama’s hand and looked up. She could only see Papa’s chin from here, but he wasn’t saying anything.

Finally, he sighed. “Just… _don’t_ take unnecessary risks.”

“Thank you.” Mama and Papa kissed and Islen poked her tongue out.

“What am I going to do? Stop you?” Papa scoffed. “I just wish I could watch your back, that’s all.”

“Ah, the good old days, when we both exposed ourselves to bodily injury.”

“Hey,” he said, warningly, a smile playing at his lips. “I happen to like that body.”

“Cole said Aunt Bethany isn’t going to a nice place.” Islen spoke up, not sure if they had forgotten she was there.

“Now let’s be fair, pip.” Mama lifted her by the arms to place her on her hip again. “Not nice can cover a very large number of things.”

She was pretty certain she wasn’t supposed to hear Papa mutter, “We’re going to have to talk to him about _filtering_.”

“Cole’s right, in this case.” Mama said. “We’re going somewhere _not_ nice.”

“You could stay here.” Islen hugged her round the neck. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I swear, by my honour as Champion of Kirkwall and, more importantly, as your most magnificent mother and winsome wife,” Mama pulled Papa in and tucked their heads together, “I will try to come back unscathed.”

“That means not hurt.” Papa explained in a low, amused tone.

 _Unscathed._ Islen chewed on the word, tucking it away for later.

“Okay.” She said out loud, and felt very adult. “And buy candy, if there’s a shop, please.”

Mama and Papa laughed, loud and long. She didn’t really know why, but it sounded nice.

* * *

The group left in the late afternoon. Mama and Aunt Bethany kissed her cheeks and said they _knew_ Islen would take good care of Skyhold and Papa so they had no need to ask her to.

Islen watched Emery, across the hall, hug her papa goodbye. He whispered something and she cried, very quietly as he passed her hand to Dagna's.

Islen looked away. It occurred to her that Emery wouldn't have a parent staying in Skyhold. Maybe Papa would let her stay with them.

And then they were gone. And Papa went to tuck her in, like it was any other day.

“Can Emmy come sleep with me?” Islen asked, after her story.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that." Papa said and, after he'd extinguished the candles, lifted the covers and crawled into bed with her. "Let's ask her tomorrow, hm?"

"You're going to sleep already, Papa?" Islen pulled the covers up to her chin. Papa chuckled. "It's so early!"

"And your mother and I have always stressed the importance of sleep." He had to bend his knees to fit on the small bed. "Time to practice what we preach."

"I miss Mama." Islen looked to where her mother usually fell, face first on the bigger bed in the room. "Do you miss Mama?"

"Yes, I miss Mama." Papa said, after a moment, his gaze following the direction of hers. "An empty bed is a strange thing."

"You can sleep with one of my dollies." Islen grinned. Isabela hadn’t brought all of her toys to Skyhold, but she had enough to share.

"Thank you." He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her tightly to his side. "I think I'm all right for tonight."

* * *

Islen still had to keep visiting Dagna, which was a good excuse to see Emery. She hadn't come up after breakfast that morning, which worried Islen. Emery was usually the first at the table. Islen stopped by the gardens and convinced Kieran to join her before they set off for the Undercroft together.

Emery’s eyes were red-rimmed, like she had been crying all night. Islen knew better than to pick at that and talked to her about a dream she had had until she cheered a bit.

"Papa said you could sleep with me tonight, if you want."

"Okay." Emery went right back to looking sad and Islen winced at the shift.

"Are you staying down here, Emmy?" Kieran asked.

"Yes." Emery nodded. "Papa said I can stay with Leliana, too, if she’s not working." She waited until Dagna passed before speaking again. "Islen...are you mad your mama left?"

Islen thought about this. "Mama leaves a lot. She has important work to do."

Emery’s face pinched. "That's what Papa says. Mama's always gone…” She whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll forget her face. Or maybe she won’t remember mine."

“Oh…” Islen bit her lip. She had never heard Emery mention a mother before.

“I don’t know my father.” Kieran spoke up between them. When neither girl interrupted, he continued. “I dream about him sometimes, I think. Mother says he was a good man. And I know he was a Grey Warden. That's probably why Mother doesn't want me to ask about him.”

"Why not?” Emery cocked her head. “Papa’s a Warden. My mama, too. I thought they were friends."

Islen jumped in. "And Blackwall and my uncle. Grey Wardens are cool!"

Kieran looked between them. "Because...of the Calling." His stare was met with two blank looks. "You don't know."

"I heard Papa talk about it." Emery bit her lip. "But not to me."

Islen had heard of it, too. The Calling. It was something Corypheus did to the Wardens and, possibly, something similar was done to her. Was Morrigan afraid of Corypheus? She didn't _seem_ afraid of anything.

“Never mind. Parents are weird.” Kieran laughed, ducking his head. It sounded off to Islen. “Your mother isn’t a Warden; she’s _the_ Warden, Emmy. What’s she like?” He turned his gaze to her.

Emery blushed. “She’s pretty and nice.” She smiled. “She’s from Orzammar!”

“Really?” Islen leaned forward. “Neat!”

The smile slowly slipped from Emery’s face and the three of them fell into a tense silence.

“I wonder when they’ll be back.” She whispered, playing with a piece of her hair.

“Your parents’ll be home soon, kids.” Dagna reassured them, from a few feet away. “It’ll be okay.”

* * *

It wasn’t okay.

The same group that left came back shaken and silent. Islen stood between her father and Emery, and found herself afraid to speak.

When Alistair walked in, Emery tore from her side to his. Islen reached blindly for Papa’s hand and felt him squeeze tightly before he spoke.

“Where’s Hawke?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, again, for that terrible cliffhanger, haha! I had no idea last chapter would get the reaction it did! I cut it there for word count purposes and tidiness. Regardless, knowing how that left off and where this chapter begins...it was so hard to keep my lips zipped! You guys are great, thank you all for reading, and I'll _attempt_ not to be so cruel in the future haha  <3 
> 
> I also want to go ahead and warn readers that there is a scene bordering on body horror in this chapter (nothing major, but just in case anyone is squeamish about that sort of thing). Thank you to wren for letting me use Emery for my own nefarious, kidfic purposes, and allowing me to pick her brain apart in the process. And thank you, kazzaashepard for betaing and offering invaluable advice <3

Islen wasn’t allowed in her room.

She stayed with Aunt Bethany, in her big, comfortable bed, and didn’t see Papa for days at a time.

Mama was sick and that was all anyone would tell Islen.

Emery said Alistair had packed and unpacked their belongings a few times that week and she wasn’t sure _when_ they were leaving anymore. He hadn’t told her anything either.

Sometimes Islen sat on the floor behind Josephine’s big, wood desk and listened to her calm grumpy, grown-ups with only a few words and the light scratch of her quill. She drew more pictures for Cassandra, who told her she kept them between the pages of her books; some mabari, more dragons, and one of Cullen that Islen knew was behind the big map in his office (though she couldn’t ask him what he thought of it as she only knew this because she had snuck in to move things about for Sera). Most of her day, though, was spent skipping rocks or exploring with Emery, and reading and writing letters with Kieran.

During the day, everyone kept busy and, at night, they seemed...uncomfortable. The grown ups weren’t talking to Islen more than they had to, and she wrote to Merrill to make up for the silence. About Skyhold, her friends, the strange, new sounds she’d heard and how good she’d gotten at blocking them out.

The Eluvian.

She wrote carefully and had Kieran check the spelling of each word. There were more correction lines than she liked to see but what it was _meant_ to say was:

_Dear Aunt Merrill,_  
_Thank you for the flower picture book and please thank Aunt Orana for the socks. I wish you could have come to Skyhold with Isabela. It is a lot of fun and there are people here you would like. Mama says that Solas needs to talk to someone smarter than him and you’re smarter than everyone so he should talk to you._  
_Mama is sick. I’m not allowed to see her, but it’s not Blight because people go in her room. They just won’t let me in. Grown-ups are dumb._  
_I have your bracelet. I took it before I left because I wanted to feel like I could talk to you. But there is an Eluvian **here**! A whole one! I haven’t asked how it works but write back if you want to know and I’ll have Lady Morrigan tell me._  
_Love,_  
_Islen Tethras-Hawke_  
_P.S.-I found out I am half-human, half-dwarf **and** half-elf. Kieran says that’s not possible in maths but he only thinks he knows everything._

Islen huffed. Merill would be able to tell she didn’t write a lot of that, so she copied a picture of a flower from her book on the back of the paper to prove it was her.

The week after she had written her letter, and two weeks after her Mama had come back, Islen came downstairs to Bethany speaking so loud it was almost a yell.

"She helped you!" And now she could hear that Bethany was crying. "Why weren’t you here to help her?"

Islen saw a staff and familiar robes, but until she rounded the corner Islen didn't know who had made her aunt so angry.

Uncle Anders was in Skyhold.

Islen stopped walking, trying to make herself as small as possible. Anders only came when someone was _really_ sick.

"Later, Sunshine." Uncle Anders looked past Bethany. Papa was at the door to their room.

“Varric.”

“Thanks for coming.” Papa looked tired and he sounded as mad as Aunt Bethany. It stopped Islen from calling out to him. “She’s this way.”

Islen weaved through the cluster of people and, unnoticed, slipped through the door behind them.

* * *

Papa and Anders were talking at the foot of the bigger bed and she hid behind one of the chairs. She couldn’t see Mama, this way, but she could at least wait until they were done talking. It  _was_ rude to interrupt.

"Solas cast it.” Papa was saying. He sounded more tired than mad, in the quiet of their closed-off room. “He told me it should keep her organs going while she's under."

"Not exactly a _Chantry_ -approved spell." Anders muttered.

"He's not the Chantry approved sort."

“And he's friends with you? Color me shocked." Anders scoffed. "Anyway, that explains the how. Any ideas to the why?"

"You'll have to talk to Bethany and the others. I don't know what they ran into in there." He paused. “I know it was bad.”

“Obviously.”

“He told me it's like part of her is...stuck." Papa said. 

Anders sighed. "That's not much to go on, Varric."

They were quiet for a while and Islen chanced stepping out from behind her hiding spot. Papa had his face in his hand and Anders was touching Papa’s shoulder. She could barely see Mama, on the bed. It looked like she was sleeping.

"Is Mama going to be okay?" Islen stood up and took a few steps forward.

Papa’s head shot up.

“Hello, Isl-”

“Islen! You can’t be in here!”

Islen blinked and felt her eyes start to get wet. Papa had _yelled_ at her.

“But,” she swallowed, “maybe I can help.”

He moved so she couldn’t see the bed or Mama. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter but no less angry. “You need to leave. _Now_.”

“Varric,” Anders said tightly, looking between them, and clearly uncertain of what to follow up with.

If he figured out what he wanted to say, Islen didn’t hear it as she tore out of the room.

* * *

Dorian was in his usual spot in the library and Islen stormed past him to the books at his knees.

"I'm sorry can I _help_ you?" He shifted a bit to look down at her.

"Everyone's decided they shouldn't tell me what's wrong with Mama all on their own." Islen said. "So I'm going to find out all on _my_ own."

"That's the spirit." He said, sounding not very spirited. Even more somberly, he added: "Islen, have you considered that no one will tell you because no one knows?"

"Then I’ll know." Islen jabbed her thumb to her chest. "And I'll tell Uncle Anders and stupid Papa and they'll be sorry they didn't want my help or let me in the room." She sniffed and yanked a book off the shelf. On the inside was only scribbles, strange markings, and letters she didn't know. She threw the book down.

"Hey!" Dorian caught it, awkwardly, with his foot. "Stupid father or not, I know he instilled a better appreciation for books than that."

Islen felt her lip wobble. The flood of tears that had been building behind her eyes slowly leaked out and she blinked up in surprise at the feel of a hand on her head.

“Do you frequently come to me when you're upset or is it by accident?" Dorian sighed. "I promise I'm no good with small humans."

"Papa yelled at me." She stuck her chin out. "No one would let me in the room! It was only because I wanted to see her, that's all."

"I see." Islen heard Dorian say above her head. "And did you?"

She turned a questioning gaze to him.

"See her." He clarified.

Islen nodded. "She looked like she was sleeping."

"Your mother isn't sleeping, I'm afraid." Dorian bent a knee to meet her at eye level. "Just...very sick."

"I know." Islen said, after a moment. "You're smart, Dorian. What do I do?"

"Ah, appealing to my ego. Luckily for you that trick works incredibly well.” He chuckled. “If I can find out anything about your mother, you'll be the first to hear it. As for your father...unfortunately I haven't much ground to stand on in that area. Yelling was a somewhat common occurrence in the Pavus household, so long as the help weren't around to gossip."

Yelling _wasn’t_ common in her household. Squealing, loud noises, Islen was used to. But even when Mama snapped at her (and it was almost always Mama who snapped), it wasn’t _yelling_ and it was always followed by a ‘talking-to’.

“I _can_ tell you, from what I know about your father, he’s not the sort who’d go without talking for long, especially not to you.” He bumped her chin with a finger. “Cheer up. Your mother’s the adventuring sort. I’m sure she’s pulled through worse than this.”

"And Varric stayed glued to her side like a worried hen, then as well." Dorian stood as Anders emerged from the top of the steps, wiping his hands on a cloth and tucking it into his belt. “Luckily one of the perks that comes with being the Champion of Kirkwall is free babysitting.”

"Nana!” She ran into his legs and heard a startled exhale of breath from above her.

"Hello, you." He scratched behind her ears as though she were a cat.

“Papa yelled at me.” She whispered.

“Yes he shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s because I snuck in.”

“No, it's because he was startled, I think. Varric’s frightened, right now. And he didn’t want you to see Hawke…”

“Sick?”

“Like that, yes.”

“There, you see?” Dorian stood. “Your father’s just an awful fusspot.”

“That may be underselling it.” Anders snorted. “When _this_ one was cooking, I don't think a week went by where he didn't hassle me at my clinic.” He pitched his voice lower, obviously mimicking Papa. “‘Blondie, can a pregnant woman eat this? As a _healer_ , I think you should tell Hawke not to do that.’ As though any of us could force Hawke to do anything she didn't think was her own idea."

Islen's face pinched as she tried to remember that far back. Eventually she gave up with a shrug.

“Delightful.” Dorian said, sounding not delighted at all. He held out a hand. “Dorian Pavus.”

“Of course.” Anders took it. “Tevinter of non-Magister fame.” After a silent moment he added. “The amount of time Varric should be putting toward his novels he has instead devoted towards pestering letters filled with vital information about this Inquisition. For instance, what the terribly uncomfortable new bedspreads imported from Orlais feel like and how handsome Islen thinks you are.”

“I do not!”

“I’m Anders, by the way.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of you in passing.” Something like recognition registered on Dorian’s face. “The mage who liberated the Kirkwall Circle by his own hand. Though, ah, accounts vary.”

“I can’t say I didn’t have help.” Anders waved a hand. “Once the mages of the Circle had decided they’d had enough, it was only a matter of...organization.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Dorian chuckled. “I wouldn’t mention any of this around our Commander, if I were you.”

“Oh, Cullen’s here?” Anders smiled. He didn’t look happy. “The varying account, I’d imagine. I’ll have to say hello, it’s been such a long time.”

“That’s clever.” Dorian leaned in and Islen tilted her head to hear better. “Just a word between us mages, though. I imagine the _only_ reason you haven’t been hauled off to a cell, at this point, is by the grace of our dear Inquisitor. And she _is_ a dear but she can only do so much.”

“Mage or not, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dorian laughed. “I have it on the highest authority that I am _very_ smart.”

His eyes slid to where Islen was following the conversation with great interest and he gave a very exaggerated wink.

“Loathe as I am to weigh in my opinion on your simple Ferelden politics,"

"Yet I notice you still speak."

"How sad would it be for you to come and go without hearing my dulcet tones?" Dorian said, sounding a little sad. "I’d take my advice. You destroyed the man’s home while his eyes were elsewhere. That’s bound to make anyone a little...perturbed. If you’d like to avoid inconvenient questions that I _know_ he wants answers to, I suggest you leave it alone.”

Anders stared at him, face pinched.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Dorian rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to tell you if you don’t avoid Cullen, now, he will make things very difficult for Hawke and her family after you’ve gone! Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He said, tightly.

“Good. Now please take the child elsewhere.” He turned back to the bookshelf. “Your feathers are giving me a headache.”

By the time the two had finished talking, Islen was clinging to Anders’ leg. He pressed a hand behind her head and lead her away.

* * *

The barracks were dark and dank but there was a warm breeze from the kitchen and room enough to eat. Islen sat on Anders’ lap, just inside the door and apart from everyone else. She would have preferred outside, where she could feel a real gust of wind but Bethany had ordered dinner up for them in apology for earlier, and Anders refused, flat out, to sit on wet grass.

"You couldn’t wake Mama up?"

"No, not yet." Anders pulled something from the mess piled on her head. She had Aunt Bethany’s hair, thus she was best suited to brushing out the knots that tended to form in it. But no one, especially the _Inquisitor_ had time to properly brush it these days. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us."

“Is she going to be okay?” Islen glanced at the floor to see that it had been some sort of small beetle. She had had a bug in her hair. She grimaced.

“Do you think I’d be here with you if she wasn’t?”

She considered this, half-turning to look at him. “I didn’t think you were allowed to be here at all.”

“Still smart as a button.” He pinched her nose and she grabbed at his hand with a laugh. “Do you like it here?”

“I guess.” She shrugged. “I miss my room. And my toys. And Sarge.”

Anders chuckled. “It is strange, seeing you without his shadow nearby. Though it looks as if you’ve grown another.”

She saw who he meant immediately. The hat was always a dead giveaway. “That’s Cole. Not a shadow, he’s more like...I don’t know. Not a shadow.” She waved and he nodded back, smiling a little before exiting through the doors behind a few of the soldiers. “He’ll come back. You know, I’ve met a lot of new people.”

“Yes, your letters said.”

“Some of them sound funny.” She whispered. “But they’re nice. After Mama wakes up, we can go back to Kirkwall and I can show them my room. ”

“I don’t think they’ll all fit in your house.” Anders smiled and Islen recognized it as the sort of smile adults used when they were trying not to laugh at her.

“Then they can stay at Aunt Merrill’s or Aunt Aveline’s. Or the Hanged Man.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Anders shook his head. “Perhaps Fenris’ manor?”

Islen wrinkled her nose.“Uncle Fenris’ house smells like foot.”

“Yeah, they waited too long to remove the nastier bits…” Anders muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He pushed at the soup bowl in front of them and leaned back with a hum. It gradually became a tune she recognized and wished she didn’t.

"You hear it?" She hopped up onto the table to look him in the eye. Justice looked back at her. “The song from the Breach?”

"Corypheus' song is maddening, at times."

"It's okay." She patted his face. "Sera says he's a Corphyshit." She giggled.

"Were you very scared, Islen?"

Islen nodded, unable or perhaps unwilling to lie to a spirit. "He has a big dragon, like this big." She stretched out her arms.

“You’re being very brave.” Justice said and her ears popped. She hadn’t heard him speak in some time. "It is regrettable, but you understand I could not be there?"

"She wasn't supposed to be either." Papa stood in the door watching them carefully. "How goes it, Justice?"

Justice nodded politely.

“Islen?” He turned his eyes towards her and Islen crossed her legs at the ankle, stilling her swinging legs. Papa seemed more nervous than angry now. She thought about what Dorian and Uncle Anders had said. About everyone being afraid.

“Hi, Papa.” She grinned, a little nervous herself.

“Hey, kid.” He smiled back, motioning towards the castle. “I think it’s time you had a proper bath, don’t you?"

Islen scrunched up her nose. “Okay.” She jumped off the table and Justice caught her around the middle to place her on the floor. When she looked up at him, he was Anders, again, and she thought it was safe to squeeze him in a tight hug. “Love you, Nana.”

She felt a light kiss drop on the top of her head before she spun away, trailing after Papa.

* * *

Islen ran her hand through the water in the tub. She held the soap bar to her face and breathed deeply. Sera had given her a whole bar for herself. It smelled like honey.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been taking very good care of you, Islen.” Papa took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“You _yelled_.” She climbed into the tub, one leg after the other and nearly missed Papa’s abashed look. “Dorian says it’s because you’re a big scaredy cat.”

He hadn’t said that exactly, but she had come away with the impression that’s what he’d meant.

“I’m very scared.” He nodded and pulled the stool to sit beside her, a little above eye level. “I just don’t think I’m allowed to be right now.”

“Don’t be silly, Papa. Everyone’s allowed to be scared.” She splashed water at him through her hands.

He swallowed, rubbing at his eyes, and Islen was suddenly worried she had leftover soap between her fingers. “Yep, you’re right.”

“Are you mad at Uncle Anders?” She asked, quietly.

Varric heaved a great sigh, rubbing soap into her hair. “Why would you think that?”

Islen dipped under the water and came up, shaking her head, droplets splashing. “You _sounded_ mad.”

When she was out of the tub and wrapped in a towel, he turned her around. "No. I'm not mad at Anders. Or Justice. This whole thing your mother and I got us involved in started before you were born and well, he always seems to be in the middle of it."

“That’s good.” Islen wiggled in her towel. “It means you’ll always be on the outside. Like a hug.”

Papa made the face that looked like he was going to cry again. She squealed when he leaned down to hug her.

“Papa! You’re gonna get wet!” He didn’t answer, and she hugged him back. “Can you read me a story?”

“I think I can manage that.”

* * *

Islen made a noise that sounded like a low hiss.

From underneath the kitchen table, a cat hissed back.

Justice pulled her up by the shoulder. "Leave it for now. It has ample food and a warm bed."

"Why doesn't it want pets?" Islen crossed her arms.

"Like many surrounded by the unknown, he is frightened. By the state of him, I'd say this creature hasn't been shown much compassion."

Islen looked at Cole, perched silently on one of the stools in the corner. For once, he grimaced.

"Cats don't like me."

Justice sighed. "Islen, our names are signifiers."

"I don't understand." Islen dropped to her knees again, trying to get a better look at the cat.

"When someone says, 'show them justice', you may not simply lead me to them. It is a concept, not a single being."

"But...you _are_ Justice." She reached out, under the table and was promptly scratched for her efforts.

"Yes." He pursed his lips, picking her back up to heal her hand. "And...that is Compassion." He leaned down to hold a hand out towards the still hissing cat. "And _Anders_ is better with cats."

Islen pouted. "Fine. We'll just _wait_ then."

Justice stood, brushing himself off. "Perhaps you need to meet a spirit of Patience, young lady." The sound of three bells rang through the halls, and he sighed. "Speaking of, I need to attend to your mother.”

After he left, Cole examined her hand where the scratch marks had faded and disappeared. "I'm sorry the cat didn't like you either."

Islen's bottom lip, if possible, stuck out further.

* * *

Islen managed to keep her sulk contained to the kitchen, though she  _did_ kick up the dirt with the toes of her boots on the way to the garden.

Emery was watching one of the plants, a little ways away from Kieran and Lady Morrigan. Islen knelt beside her. It looked like Royal Elfroot if she remembered her book right. She told Emery as much.

"I like the blue." The other girl shrugged with a smile.

It _was_ a pretty blue. Islen looked over her shoulder at Kieran, sitting on the grass and, occasionally, looking in their direction.

"I can't work up the courage to go over there alone." Emery whispered an answer to Islen's unspoken question. "Lady Morrigan is nice but she has a lot of questions about Mama that I don't know how to answer."

"Maybe you could get your father to talk to her."

Emery made a face. "I don't think she and Papa get along very well."

She heard a cough above them. Kieran was looking at the plant. "That's the, ehm, Royal Elfroot."

"I already said that, Kieran."

"That's right, Islen said." Emery parroted dutifully.

"Well I wasn't here, was I?" He blushed, rubbing the side of his nose. "...how's your mother?"

Islen shrugged. "Dunno."

She could feel both of her friends’ gazes and was too tired to say more than that. Yes, Mama was sick, but Aunt Bethany was here, and Uncle Anders had come too. Emery's mother was absent and Kieran had no father at all. It seemed such a little thing to go on about.

Kieran narrowed his eyes at the Elfroot. “Let’s go,” He said and grabbed her hand.

Islen nearly followed on automatic before asking: “Where are we going?"

“The old books." He said. "I bet there's a ton of stuff down there. Come on, Emmy, you said you wanted to go back too.”

Emery balled up her fists and, with a firm nod, took Islen’s other hand.

* * *

Islen discovered it was a lot easier to get to underground with permission...a lot less fun though.

Kieran read through the pages of a book, sat open on his lap. “None of these say anything about Fade sickness.”

"Is that what it is?" Islen leaned forward, trying to read upside down.

Kieran shrugged. "She went into the Fade. _Physically_ in. Now she's sick. What else?"

"No one else seems to think it's so simple." She sat back with a huff.

"Mother says it's like a bit of her was left there." He flipped a page, distractedly. Islen nodded. She had heard Papa say something similar.

_Like part of her is stuck._

"Well...can't we just go get it back?" Emery asked from across the room and Islen was surprised to see her halfway up one of the ladders. For someone so seemingly meek she had a never ending supply of what Papa called 'steel in the trousers'.

Well she _was_ the daughter of two Grey Wardens, after all. That had to count for something.

"You can't just 'go get something' from the Fade, Emmy. It's not like going to the market." Kieran rolled his eyes. After a moment of silence he looked up, a light red on his cheeks. "...but I'm sure there's something else we can do."

They looked through books, old and worn, until their eyes began to hurt and their stomachs ached, and while much of it was interesting, none of it helped.

“Maybe if we make her soup?" Islen lay on her back in the middle of the room. "That always makes me feel better. But...Mama usually makes it.”

She didn't mention that soup was really the only successful dish Mama _could_ make. Islen had learned at an early age that her mother was not the Champion of Kirkwall for her cooking.

“I don’t think so.” Kieran looked up, closing his book. “Or...maybe?” He added hopefully.

Emery made a strangled noise from under the ladder and the other two turned to look at her. She had her own book. She had hauled the beastly thing up onto her lap while they ate lunch and was now pointing desperately at one of the pages. “I know this flower!”

"Okay?" Kieran crawled over to look at it.

"No! It's good!" Her eyebrows drew together. "I think."

Kieran squinted at the page. "The text is too faded to read."

Islen squinted too, though not to read. She _recognized_  the book itself. "Is that my flower book?"

"No, I found it here!" Emery pointed a few rows up.

Islen examined the cover. It was definitely the same, if an older copy. "Wait here."

* * *

Kieran read the line underneath the picture in Islen's book. “Kocari. Wilds. Oh, Wilds flower.”

"That's it?" Islen sat back on her heels.

"Apparently it's very difficult to find? That's...it." Kieran bit his lip. "Mother is from the wilds. She may know more about it."

"Emmy, why this flower?" Islen tiled her head.

Emery's voice was muffled, her head buried as she rummaged through her pack. “Papa tells me all sorts of stories." She said. "And he told me about that one. A white flower with a red center. It cured our mabari when he was very, awfully sick!" She came out of the pack with a deep breath and a small tin. "Here. Papa says I’m supposed to save it but...your Mama probably needs it more than I do.”

Islen opened the offered tin and examined the contents inside. It was a light pink paste and sickly sweet, like honey. She wrinkled her nose. “What is it?”

“It’s the flower, I think.” She shrugged. “Maybe it will help. Maybe it’s what I was saving it for.”

Islen held the tin between their hands and squeezed.

* * *

Papa was sleeping in a chair, head tilted and arms crossed, when she snuck in to see Mama, this time. He didn’t look very comfortable.

Anders was mixing something in a bowl and, though he looked at her, the motion of his hands didn’t stop. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I know.” Islen whispered because Anders had whispered, too. She had avoided looking at Mama until she had seen the other adults in the room. Now that she knew she wouldn’t be tossed out on her ear, she couldn’t look away.

Mama still looked like she was asleep, wearing the same clothes, and she hadn’t moved. The light from a spell was around her like a thin wall and sang something low and sweet. Like honey, she thought, looking at the tin in her hand.

“What do you have there?” Anders was looking at it too. She handed it to him and he set aside his own bowl to take it, expression openly curious.

“It’s Kocari Wilds flower.” He smelled it, as she had. “Will it help?”

“Where did you get it?”

“Emmy.” She said. “Kieran thought we should look in the books downstairs and we found a big flower book like mine, and Kieran tried to read it, but it was too faded, but I saw it looked like mine, so I thought-”

“That’s all right, Islen, I think I understand.” Anders held up a hand, effectively silencing her. He had a look on his face like she had tried to push him over. “Sometimes the minds of children…”

“Will it help?” She repeated, a little desperately.

“It can’t hurt.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

Islen smiled, retreating to the other side of the bed as Anders did...doctorly things. She made a face. She didn’t mind hands on her forehead and bowls of soup. But the yucky tasting drinks and the pricky needles made Islen shudder (though she now knew a skin-pinching trick that Dagna had taught her for the needles bit).

Papa was still asleep in his chair. She shook his knee and he woke slowly. “Papa?” She winced at the sound of a pop somewhere in his neck.

“Islen?” He looked shocked, but he didn’t yell this time. “What are you-”

“Ssh!” She held a finger over her mouth and pointed to the bed. “He’s fixing Mama.”

Papa blinked away whatever sleepiness was left, eyes focused on the bed as he stood and walked towards it. Islen didn’t say anything but clung to one of his fingers, and they waited, together, by the bed.

Mama also woke slowly.

Islen leaned forward to watch ocean eyes blink towards the ceiling twice. There was a rush of sound, claw marks and falling, like a bad dream. Then, Mama fell back to sleep, as quick as a breath.

Islen looked at Papa, who couldn't seem to decide whether to look at Anders or keep his eyes on Mama.

Anders was looking at the tin of flower paste. “Huh.”

“What, Blondie? Talk to me.”

“Come here, Islen.” Anders motioned her to his side and she wordlessly obeyed. "Did you hear anything, when Hawke woke up?"

She nodded. He guided two of her fingers into the tin. It was less gummy than it looked.

"Can you hear it now?"

"Um..." She only heard them. The lightning crackle of Justice, the sound of her isana.

"Open your eyes, Islen,” Papa said and, when she looked across at him, “use your sight."

Islen nodded and closed her eyes.

The sounds were there with her First Sight, the scratching, snarling _something_. She wanted to block it out entirely.

But Papa had _asked_. That meant it was important.

The sounds were behind Mama's eyes, still closed, still sleeping. There was a light, too. A familiar green, less like Aunt Bethany’s hand and more like Merrill's magic, that pulsed behind her ribs.

Islen opened her eyes at Papa’s startled gasp. He was looking down; her gaze followed and she froze at what she saw.

Her arm was _inside_ Mama’s stomach.

“Concentrate, Islen, look at me.” Islen looked at Anders’ face, heard only her breath coming quick through her nose. “Don’t you want her to get better?”

She nodded, feeling dizzy.

“Find the sound again, in your mind.” He instructed. She swallowed and did as he said. “Put the salve there, just like a sore.”

When Mama opened her eyes, this time, she looked right at Islen.

Islen tore her hand away and brought it to her chest. Then, Mama closed her eyes, her breathing evened out, and she was asleep again. The wall around her shimmered and fell away. When Islen used her First Sight again, she heard no claws, no screams, no beating of wings. Only lightning and the soft glow of lyrium.

“Good job, Islen.”

She turned to give Anders a shaky smile before vomiting her lunch on his robes.

* * *

They had to let Mama sleep after that. Islen thought she had slept quite enough, but Uncle Anders  _promised_ she could see her after she woke up this time. So she waited, somewhat patiently, on the steps of Skyhold, for someone to tell her what to do.

Emery found her there first, pack slung over a shoulder and Alistair watching from some distance away.

Islen looked between them, standing a little too quickly for her head. "You're leaving? Now?"

“We’re gonna go find my Mama.” Emery swallowed. She looked sad but there was excitement there, too. "I was going to tell you but..."

"It's okay." Islen reached out to hold her hand. “Can I see you after that?”

Emery nodded. “I’ll miss you.”

Islen toed the ground, trying not to cry. She was used to adults leaving. She’d never made many friends her own age. This was _hard._ “Uh-huh.”

Emery pulled her in by the hand, hugging her tightly. “I hope your Mama feels better soon."

* * *

When they let Islen see Mama she was propped up in bed, finally awake.

She knew because she could hear her before she saw her.

"I don't want more of that pisswater soup! I want," Mama stopped speaking when she walked in behind Papa. "Islen!"

Islen ran to her side, tossing herself as far onto the bed as she could manage. She felt fingers pass through her hair a few times before Papa’s familiar hands pulled her away.

"I want to stay with Mama." She whined, clinging to the sheets.

"You can hug her later, whenever you want." Papa removed her hands, finger by finger until she understood and let go on her own.

Islen looked to Mama for support. She was smiling...but she _did_ seem tired. Islen blew her a kiss and, halfway to catching it in the air, Mama's mouth opened in a wide yawn. “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy, pip.”

“Yeah.” Islen rested her elbows on the edge of the sheets. “You slept _forever_. You shouldn’t sleep for a lot of days, now.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, but I’ll try.” Mama chuckled softly, and turned to pull her pillow closer. “I don’t look forward to falling asleep again...and I’ve missed seeing you.”

“I missed you too, Mama.” Islen grinned.

"You have your own appointment to keep, as I understand.” Anders held out a hand, motioning towards the door. “Hopefully you're not as terrible a patient as your mother."

"Dagna isn't a healer." Islen laughed. “She studies magics!”

“Lyrium, lierium.” Anders shrugged. “Say goodbye, for now.”

She knew she would be gone for a while, even if Mama would sleep the whole time. She turned back and hugged Papa’s arm, then moved to touch what was probably Mama’s leg. “I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

Mama laughed. Papa leaned over, kissing the top of her head. “That’s half-asleep for ‘love you, too’.” He scratched the back of her head. “Be good.”

“I’m good.” She grinned wide and followed Anders out of the room.

“You’d be good with medicine." Anders said as they walked.

Islen remembered her arm, up to her elbow in her mother and felt a wave of sickness wash over her.

“I don’t want to be a healer, Nana.” She made a face.

He placed a hand on her back, leading her down the hall. “Good isn’t often easy, Islen.”

* * *

“Harding herding Halla.”

“Not exactly.” Harding laughed. “Sheep are docile. Er, that means calm. I imagine Halla are a bit more...willful.”

The dwarf was explaining what herding _was_ when Islen had spoken. Islen, who had lived in the city her entire life, had a difficult enough time picturing the amount of sheep she had numbered, let alone gathering them into a group.

Islen sat on the fence beside the tavern, legs kicking the wood beneath her feet, and was still not the first to see the other scout approach.

Harding was _good_ at seeing things.

“You look serious, Royce”

“I’m looking for the Inquisitor. There’s someone here to see her.”

“That’s not unusual.” Harding crossed her arms. “Let Lady Montilyet deal with it.”

“Says she knows her.” Royce shook his head. “Won’t give a name, though.” He leaned in to whisper. “Lace, she sounds sweet, but she’s got this...look about her all right? Can’t you just, you know…?”

“Oh for the love of,” Harding snatched the piece of paper from Royce’s hand with a low growl. “Fine. I’ll handle it, you gigantic baby.”

“Thanks, Lace.” Royce smiled gratefully.

“Yeah, all right.” She sighed. When she turned back to Islen, she was all smiles. “Want to go find your aunt?”

* * *

They found Aunt Bethany inside Cullen’s office. Harding put a hand on Islen’s shoulder when she tried to step further into the room.

“You pulled her out. You’re the reason she’s even here.” Cullen leaned against his desk and Islen mirrored the motion against Harding’s armour.

“I just wish I’d been able to do more. She’s helped me so much.” Bethany sighed. She sounded tired. ”Why am I even talking to you about this?”

Harding coughed and the other two in the room jumped.

“Lace?”

“Someone to see you, Inquisitor.” Harding looked down. “Not us. In the main hall.”

“Thank goodness.” Bethany nodded at Cullen. “Commander.”

“Inquisitor.”

When they were out of the room, Bethany let out a great breath and reached down to grab Islen’s hand.

“I know.” Bethany said, without prompting. “I shouldn’t speak to him if I’m going to get so riled.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Harding said, threading her fingers through Islen’s free hand. They walked along the battlements in silence for a few moments. “I can hear you thinking.”

“I just thought it would be a good idea to answer any questions about Anders he may have had. How does the saying go? Nip that problem in the bud.” Bethany scratched her nose.

“That’s a good idea.” Harding smiled.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” She lifted Islen’s arm and Islen giggled as she was raised from the ground a few inches. “You’re keeping everyone together, from everywhere. It’s like herding Halla with sheep.” She winked at Islen.

“More like Halla and wolf.” Bethany muttered.

“Maybe all three.” Harding laughed. “If the best way for you to do your job is to stand in front of a few of them, the Commander included? I won’t say a word.”

Bethany smiled.

“I wonder who’s here to see me.”

* * *

Islen recognized the woman in the hall immediately. She had her back to them and had on a big coat, like Aunt Isabela had worn. But Islen would have recognized her upside down and wearing a funny, Orlesian mask.

“Aunt Merrill!” Islen ran forward to hug her and felt two long hands wrap around her shoulders and pull her in tighter.

“Islen! I said to find Hawke, but I suppose I wasn’t very specific.” Merrill giggled.

“Merrill? What in Andraste's holy name are you doing here?” Bethany laughed, coming in to hug her and squishing Islen between.

Merrill held up a familiar slip of paper. “I received a letter from Islen.” Three sets of eyes turned down. “She wrote that Hawke was sick! That she wouldn’t wake up! I was so worried.”

Bethany raised an eyebrow at Islen, who shrugged a little helplessly.

“Is she…” Merrill looked between them, hands clasped at her chest.

“Marian is _fine_.” Bethany lay a hand on the woman’s back. “Isn’t she always?”

Merrill laughed. “I guess that depends on your definition of ‘fine’.”

“Then I suppose we’d better take you to her, so you can see for yourself.”

* * *

“I knew it. I had a bad feeling about that place.”

Aunt Merrill sat as close as she could to Mama’s hip without being in her lap. Islen had already claimed that spot for herself.

“Yes, you said.” Mama stuck a finger in her ear and tried to shove whatever came out into Islen’s face. Islen pushed her finger away with a grimace. “But if we avoided everywhere that felt bad we wouldn't go many places would we?”

“This was different, Hawke!” Merrill beat a fist on the bed so hard, Islen’s legs bounced a little.

“What do you mean, Daisy?” Papa held a hand to his head.

“I told Isabela, the night before she left, that I’d had an awful dream.” Merrill sat back, shaking her head. “It's why I so terribly wanted to leave with her. But she wouldn't listen.”

“I don't think you being there would have kept me out of this bed.” Mama reached over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “And at least you're not in it, too.”

“Yes, everyone’s alive. We’re all happy.” Anders reached over her head to feel Mama’s. “And as much I love reunions, it’s time for rest.”

“ _More_ sleep?” Islen groaned.

“I’m going to have to agree with my delightful daughter.” Mama’s voice sounded like she was on the edge of a temper. “I've slept enough, Anders. When do I get to move about?”

“When you can stand without tipping over.” He said, flatly.

“Can't you magic my legs or something?”

“ _Sleep_ , Hawke.” Anders rolled his eyes. “Varric, make sure she doesn’t try to...do crunches. Or something equally stupid.”

“On my oath, Blondie.”

“That means very little, but I trust you’ll call me if she starts coughing up,” Anders shot a look at Islen. “Anything. Everyone else, out.” When the door closed, he rubbed his brow. “She wasn’t always the worst patient.”

Merrill touched his arm, drawing his attention to her. “I'm glad you were here, Anders.”

He sighed deeply. “I'll have to leave soon. Likely within the week.”

“Is it safe to say where you’ll be?”

“No point in hiding from an all-seeing Inquisition, I suppose.” Anders laughed, bitterly. “I’ll be going to Weisshaupt. The business with the Wardens is...troubling.” His gaze flicked to Islen. “There are other things I can look into while I’m there.”

“Send back what you find.” Merrill straightened and pulled Islen in front of her. “I'll look after them.”

Anders nodded. “Thank you, Merrill.”

“Merrill?”

Islen bent and gently wormed her way out of Aunt Merrill’s arms. She was surprised to see Lady Morrigan in the hall. She usually only came for the big meetings with Aunt Bethany.

Islen waved at Kieran, shadowing three steps behind his mother, as usual.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Merrill raised a brow.

“You are the one who shattered a _priceless_ Eluvian to create that most intriguing artifact.” And here Morrigan pointed to Islen, or more specifically, her bracelet.

_I would keep this hidden, da’len,_ Solas had said, _particularly from Lady Morrigan._

Islen wondered, suddenly, if she was in trouble.

"Are you not?”

Merrill opened her mouth. She looked angry.

Morrigan held up a hand. “No need to explain. I understand sacrificing greatness for something still greater.” Merrill closed her mouth. “Would you care to see one still intact?”

“Well go on.” Anders whispered after an extended silence, and gave Merrill a small shove. “Looks like it’s no strings attached, this time.”

Merrill’s eyes widened. Islen thought she might cry. Instead, she kissed both of their cheeks and ran to catch up with the taller woman, already winding her way out of the hall and towards the gardens.

One of the men in the hall, with a bright mask and big moustache, started explaining something about a rash to Uncle Anders and Islen plopped onto the floor.

At least she hadn’t gotten into trouble.

“It’s good that your aunt’s finally here.”

Islen stared up at Kieran, a little surprised he had stayed with her, but happy. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

“Didn’t you _want_ her to come?” Kieran crossed his arms.

“Of course I did!” Islen drew in her chin stubbornly. Kieran sighed and his arms fell back to his side.

He slid to the floor next to her. “People like us, Islen? Sometimes the things we want just...happen.”

“What do you mean, people like us?” Islen felt her nose wrinkle.

“Kieran!” Morrigan called, apparently having waited for him.

“Coming, Mother!” He stood like a bolt, brushing himself off and walking a quick pace to catch them up.

Islen balked. He hadn’t answered her!

“Kieran!” The boy looked over his shoulder at the sound of her shout. “What _kind_ of things?”

Even from their distance apart, she could see him grin.

“All sorts.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your patience waiting for these last chapters. My mother was in the hospital for the past month (something I wasn't open about on social media as we have a somewhat complicated relationship) and most of my attention has been geared towards family matters for a while. Thank you, kazzashepard, for being my ever patient beta and saint of a friend [tumblr here](http://goddamnelsa.tumblr.com)). Emery is Wren's baby and a precious baby she is <3 ([tumblr here](http://kindervenom.tumblr.com)).

Islen had been training in the gardens with Merrill for a few days, near the Eluvian. Her teacher seemed to keep a closer eye on _it_ than she did on her and, sometimes, Islen thought Merrill was hearing something in her head too.

Anders left when the weather was fair and took Messere Spotsy (the cat from the kitchens who had, with some patience, been brought out) with him. Waving goodbye, Islen realised she had never gotten to see him off this way. He generally left in the middle of the night while she was asleep. This time it was Mama who missed out, able to walk but tired by the time she reached the main doors of the hall.

Islen walked back between Aunt Merrill and Papa.

“How are you settling in to Skyhold, Daisy? Everyone treating you well?”

“Wonderfully! Everyone’s so friendly.”

Islen bit her tongue. She had heard what some of the men and women in the hall whispered about _blood magic_ and words worse than curses when they thought no one important was around to listen. Habit wanted to move her to Mama and Papa. Instinct had carried her to Josephine’s desk instead.

Islen guessed it had been the right call.

"Dorian is very clever. I'm not sure how to manage some of his spells, but he isn't nearly as _stern_ as Madame de Fer. She seems more practiced."

"Eh, it's probably your outfit she's making faces at."

"Whats wrong with my outfit?”

“Who knows, Daisy?” Papa questioned the sky. “I think it's a fetching shade of green.”

“Like grass.” Islen added helpfully.

Merrill seemed to accept this. “It’s nice having a Qunari around who’ll answer my questions instead of scowl at me.” She giggled. “And that Cole’s so helpful. Not much for talking, though.”

“Bull’s Tal’Vashoth, though I wouldn’t mention that. He’s still a bit touchy on the subject.” Papa scratched his neck. “And Cole’s...a sweet kid.”

“He’s my best friend!” Islen used their arms to propel herself forward.

“I thought Sera was your best friend.” Papa pulled out a cloth to wipe at her nose.

“She is!” Islen butted his hand away with her head. “And Emmy and Kieran. And Krem and Harding.”

“I think she’s working her way through the tavern.” Papa muttered.

“You have a lot of best friends now, huh?” Merrill giggled. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re my best friend too, Aunt Merrill.” Islen tugged on her hand.

“Well, that’s nice.” She smiled.

* * *

Islen had been avoiding Kieran.

Not on purpose. Mama was awake and Aunt Merrill was there to help her study and needed to be shown around. She spent most of her time with Sera and Cole but when they left with the Iron Bull, to take down a dragon she realised that spending so much time elsewhere had meant avoiding the gardens, which meant avoiding Kieran, and she suddenly felt bad about leaving her friend in the lurch.

Anyway, whether it was her fault or not, they didn’t see one another much.

Kieran, for his part, didn’t seem to notice, greeting her with the same enthusiasm as ever which was...not much at all. She found him leaning on the wall beside the Eluvian and looking at it oddly.

“I forgot to thank you.” Islen reached into her pocket and pulled out a ricecake wrapped in a napkin. “For helping with the books.”

“Emmy did most of the sleuthing.” Kieran took the napkin. “Ah, that means _searching or investigating_. I just pushed things along.”

“Thanks for that then.” He smiled and Islen sat on the ground, on the opposite wall. “Lady Morrigan thinks you’re studying.”

“I am studying.” Kieran looked offended that she would suggest otherwise, so Islen let the subject drop. He looked back at the Eluvian. “Do you hear it?”

Kieran had been to her appointments with Dagna. He knew she could hear magic. Was curious about it, even. So Islen nodded because, well, she knew she _could_ hear it if she let herself.

“Is that why you called me weird when we first met?” She asked.

Kieran looked annoyed. “I called you weird because you were following me everywhere. Why did you call _me_ weird?”

Islen opened her First Sight to the wash of sounds from the other child. Angry, deep-set craters in the ground, low whistles like warning bells. She looked away.

“Because you were following me everywhere.” She lied.

Islen chewed at her lip. She wanted to ask what he had meant; people like _us_. Things happening just because they want them to. It had been eating at her since he said it.

When she thought about it, it was a little true. Sometimes, the things she wanted _did_ happen.

 _But not always_ , she considered. _I didn’t want Mama to be sick._

 _But you wanted her better._ Her Second Thoughts insisted. _And isn’t it funny that you ended up in Haven, with Papa, exactly where you wanted to be?_

 _I wanted to be with Mama and Papa!_ She fought back. _And I got sick! I didn’t want that!_

 _Hmm._ Her Second Thoughts wondered, and Islen wondered, too.

 _The cat._ Islen’s Third Thoughts challenged with crystal clarity. _If you could really control what happened around you just by thinking it, you’dve had that dratted cat out **before** Uncle Anders!_

Her Second Thoughts were silent.

 _Ha!_ She narrowed her eyes inwardly, crowing with delight. Second Thoughts could fight you like a real person if you let them. That is, they could _win_.

This time, they hadn’t.

Kieran was looking at her strangely.

“What?” She blinked.

"Nothing." He snorted. "Have you been sleeping enough? You look sick."

"Really?" Islen patted her face. "I have been having bad dreams."

“Me too." He said after a moment.

In her own room, Sarge would lay on her until she was less afraid or, sometimes, wander down the hall to get Papa and Mama. Here, there was no great mabari warhound to put her back to sleep, and when she woke, Mama and Papa snored like it was a competition.

"Mama and Papa don't know,” was all she said.

Kieran nodded."I don't want to worry Mother. She worries more than you'd think."

"Do you think we'll stop having nightmares when we grow up?"

"Of course not. The Fade doesn't discriminate." Kieran considered this. "Except against dwarves I guess. Maybe Emmy’s sleeping more soundly, wherever she is..."

Islen sighed. "I miss her."

"Yeah." He stared at the ground. "Me too."

* * *

Mama couldn’t fight, but she could hobble her way to the big room. Once she was able to walk to the battlements and back on her own, Aunt Bethany left again.

The troops went to the Arbor Wilds. Lady Morrigan said there was an Elven Temple, and after that, nothing could keep Aunt Merrill from going with them. When they came back, they brought something with them. Something old and buried in static songs.

“What’s wrong, Islen?” Papa, who noticed everything Islen did, particularly if it was a _quiet_ something, asked that the same question he always had.

And she replied the way she always did. “She sounds strange.”

“Morrigan?”

Islen shook her head. “Aunt Merrill.”

* * *

She didn’t go to find Aunt Merrill immediately, in part because it was nearly lunch when they arrived, and Islen was terribly hungry. It took longer still to  _find_ her because Merrill wasn’t in the gardens where she had made a nice place for herself.

Islen found her, instead, in the dusty library downstairs, dark and filled with the blue glow from the lights.

“I wasn’t going to let Morrigan take a part of our history.”

“So you thought it yours to take?” Solas was with her, and he sounded angrier than she had heard him to someone who wasn’t Madame Vivienne. "Just like the Eluvian, you put yourself in a place above your people, making decisions for them.”

“Stop _saying_ that! Your, them!” She hissed. “If you don’t even consider yourself one of us, how are you in a better position to judge? I made the Eluvian _my people_ found into something useful! I saved the lives of countless mages, which was more than it had done.”

Solas breathed hard through his nose, his jaw set. “It was not yours to destroy."

"Aunt Merrill is nice and smart! Smarter than _you_. You're just being mean!"

Islen at least _imagined_ herself saying these things. Running out and yelling them at the top of her lungs. She had before, and often, though she knew yelling was usually followed by a talking-to.

Now, though, her feet felt stuck to the ground, her mouth gummed shut. By the time she was able to walk, Solas was gone and Merrill was sat on the floor, arms around her knees.

“I like it down here.” Islen sat beside her and looked around.

“Yes, I hear you’ve gotten in a peck of trouble, sneaking around where you’re not supposed to.”

“Papa says I need adult supervision.” Islen mirrored Merrill’s pose and pretended the woman wasn’t crying. She never liked it being pointed out.

“Islen, that means adults have to be around when you go off someplace.” Merrill laughed.

Islen nodded as though she understood that very well (a trick she had picked up recently, from Kieran).

Islen bit her lip. “Do you want to tell Mama that Solas was mean to you?”

“No, Islen. This is...a grownup thing. One of the problems I have to fix on my own, unfortunately.” Merrill sighed and muttered to herself. “I've kept the pieces. Hopefully it can be repaired."

“That stinks.” Islen was nearly seven, and she already knew it was better to have people helping you out.

Merrill wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the contact sent all the sounds she had blocked to the forefront of her mind.

“Aunt Merrill?”

“Yes?”

Merrill wasn’t alone, anymore. There was something else in her mind. But when Islen stared up at her, it was into the same, warm eyes, brighter in the dark, the same smile.

Islen smiled back.

“Will you adult supervision at the tavern?”

Merrill laughed. “Of course, Islen.”

* * *

When Islen awoke in the middle of the night, this time, she was surprised to see Papa sat up against his pillows, his candle still lit. She slipped out of bed, and Papa’s eyes caught her across the room, following her until she was beside the bed.

“Do you want the light out? Am I keeping you up?” She shook her head to both questions, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

“No.” She yawned. “I can’t sleep.”

Islen couldn’t remember her dream, but she knew she had gone to bed frightened by what she heard in Aunt Merrill’s head. She hadn’t asked what happened and, as with Solas, had closed her First Sight to Merrill entirely.

“Do you want to sleep with us?”

She nodded again, stretching her arms out and letting Papa pull her up onto the bed. Mama stirred, lifting an arm and allowing Islen to wriggle underneath. Papa extinguished the candle beside them, cuddling up on her other side and sandwiching her between them.

Islen didn’t know how long she was awake before Mama woke fully, but it must have been quite some time because Papa had already drifted off and her hand had fallen asleep where she had laid her head on it. Eventually she heard Mama sigh and ask: “Still can’t sleep, pip?”

“No.” Islen whispered to the dark, keeping her eyes closed.

“Come on.” Islen heard the fabric move and finally opened her eyes as she felt herself lifted out of the bed. The stones were chilly, even through her socks, until Mama lifted one of her feet, then the other, and slid her boots up over them, the warmth trapped around her thighs and up to her knees.

She had always seen fairly well in the dark, and her eyes adjusted quickly now, as Mama reached over to shake Papa lightly on the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Go back to sleep.” Mama whispered. Islen looked around, but there was no one else with them. She wondered why they were speaking so quietly. Maybe there was something about the dark that made _everyone_ quieter. “We’re going for a walk. Shake off the spiderwebs up top.” She pointed at her head.

“Nice night for it.” Papa sat up a little. “Grab your coat.”

“For pity’s sake, Varric, I wasn’t going to let her go out half-dressed.” Mama scoffed, quickly wrapping Islen in the fur Aunt Isabela had left her.

“I was talking to you.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

* * *

They made their way along the battlements, slowly still because Mama wasn’t at a point where she could walk fast for long. And Mama didn’t ask Islen any questions or say anything at all. It was like being back in Kirkwall, during the coldest Wintermarch.

She shivered, huddling down into her coat. She couldn’t remember any Wintermarch, or any other month, being this cold in Kirkwall.

“Is that Bethany?”

Islen followed her mother’s gaze and saw Aunt Bethany, in a familiar stance; arms crossed, aggravated, face pinched, sad. Islen used her First Sight.

_Oh._

Mama tried to walk forward, but Islen held her back by the hand. "What are you doing, Islen?"

"Look." She whispered, pointing.

Cullen stepped forward. He had been behind one of the battlements, but Islen could hear him as though he were right next to her.

"Hm." Mama settled on a step, pulling Islen to her lap. “Downwind is a good place to spy. You can hear them, but they won’t hear you.” Islen looked at her, brow raised. “What? You think I’m going to let a Qunari teach you more than _me_? And I _know_ that red-headed Sister’s been sneaking you tricks.” She huffed off into a mutter.

Islen patted her hand the way Aunt Isabella sometimes did when Mama got too worked up over something. “Oh, Mama.”

Above them, things were more tense. Cullen’s tone brokered no argument. “While I still think that what we’re doing makes us no better than-”

“Than the Chantry?” Bethany offered.

“I merely came to express my sincerest regrets at allowing my personal feelings get in the way of how today’s trial proceeded, Inquisitor.”

Islen wasn’t allowed to go to any of the trials, but Mama had told her about Samson. She couldn’t see Dagna while she was studying him, and she could hear the lyrium, voices in different tongues, sick and sad through the floors of the Undercroft that had made Sandal and Bodanh take up residence elsewhere.

“Oh, stop it, you’re not Cassandra. Is she making you do this?”

He sighed. “She may have mentioned I was a little...brash.”

She snorted. “And you thought, well coming from her, it must be true.”

“It does sting a bit, yes.” He said. “Regardless of how I spoke-”

“Shouted.”

“ _Shouted_ , you are still the Inquisitor and I respect your position.” He straightened. “My opinions are my own. If you wish, I can remain silent on the matter.”

“And what good will that do us?" Bethany played with her sleeve for a moment. “I only heard him out.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss this with you.” He sighed. “I came to apologize for my outburst,”

“Under duress,”

“And let you know that it won’t happen in the future.”

"I know what I saw, Cullen. Samson was a good man.”

" _Was_ a good man. What he did to those who followed him,” Cullen took a deep breath. “It's unforgivable."

"Unforgivable? And where does that leave someone like you?” She laughed, bitterly. “My captor for six _good_ years in Kirkwall?”

Islen could barely hear them over the wind. Mama had one hand on the edge of the wall and the other arm wrapped around her middle. Her face was tight, and her legs shook, as though the only thing holding her to the floor was Islen’s weight in her lap.

“You weren't alone, I'll admit, but,” Bethany rubbed her hands together. “But there are days when I look at you and you still frighten me.”

“I...apologize.” Cullen stared at her, shoulders tense.

"You can't apologize enough.” Bethany’s voice was small and strong. “You never can.”

“I know it’s not sufficient.” He laughed sounding a little desperate. “You seek me out, refuse my silence. I do not know what else I _can_ do.”

“Neither one of us should have been in that godforsaken place!” Bethany shouted and took a sharp breath to steady herself. “Speaking with Samson...he may have been misguided, but he was right about where we need to focus. The things we need to fix.”

Cullen was silent for a long time. Bethany put a hand on his shoulder.

“You were right to leave the Templars. But I was right to leave the Circle, too.” She said. “And If I let the Inquisition kill every man who took the foolish course and got people killed, why hold a trial at all?” She let her hand fall. “I certainly wouldn’t be standing here.”

“I _am_ glad you’ve found a purpose, Bethany.” Cullen scratched his neck. “I just wish it wasn’t something as big as Chantry law.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got a say in the next Divine then.”

“When did she get so smart?” Mama said, wiping her eyes. She had stopped shaking and wrapped both of her arms around Islen.

“Aunt Bethany’s real smart.” Islen looked up, kissing Mama’s chin. “That’s why she’s Inquisitor.”

* * *

Islen watched the chess match with very little idea of what was going on. By the way Dorian was paying more attention to the board than his drink, she had a feeling that Cullen was winning.

Whatever Aunt Bethany and Cullen had said to one another, those adult conversations that happened _underneath_ the conversations Islen heard, must have had some impact. Bethany stood on the opposite side of the board, with a hand on Cullen's shoulder, watching the game through narrowed eyes.

This was why Islen was the first to notice Scout Harding approach.

"Hello." Islen gave the woman a small wave and was pleased to receive a cup in return, full of the sweet drink Papa had brought in for the Iron Bull.

“Lace!” Bethany grinned. "I thought you were heading to the Oasis."

"Royce owed me one. Normally I don't mind; new sights and all. But, after the Arbor Wilds, I could use the break." She replied, laughing easily. .

Cullen waved a hand. "You've earned it."

"Aw, thanks." Harding blushed. Islen noticed that, when the woman smiled, her mouth lifted on one side like pulling a string. It was awfully pretty.

"I’m sure you're not missing a lot. _Oasis_ likely means you have to trek through miles of desert.” Bethany shuddered. “I hate the desert. I'm still finding sand in places I shouldn't. I'm sorry. Compared to your guys on the ground, I have it pretty good."

Harding laughed. “It's not easy, but I wouldn't want to make any of the decisions you do, Inquisitor. No offense.”

“And match.”

“Dammit.”

"My turn.” Bethany pushed on Cullen’s shoulder. “You've embarrassed Dorian enough for one night."

* * *

They stayed as long as it took for Islen to grow bored of chess and learn what some of the markers on a map meant from Harding. Long enough for Sera to come bursting into the tavern with Dagna, a chicken, and something that looked like an electrified bow. They were being chased by Cassandra and Josephine, both shouting in languages Islen now recognized but didn’t understand, though she  _did_ understand they weren’t happy about whatever it was they were saying.

They had stayed ‘long enough’, Papa would call it, if they were at the Hanged Man.

Bethany came to scoop her up when her head dipped in a tired drop. Bethany was soft where Mama was all sharp angles Islen had learned to avoid. Aunt Bethany had carried her up to bed, most nights, when Mama was sick and, rested against her shoulder like this, Islen could spot the similarities.

They smelled the same; tart fruit, blackberries, Islen thought. A piece of Bethany’s hair, so much like her own, fell into her face. Islen blew it away, caught its scent, and she thought they must use the same soap, too. The soap Mama used to wash, back at the manor. Back home.

“You going our way, Dorian?” Bethany asked, over Islen’s shoulder.

“Not finished quite yet.” He waved a drink at her. “Are you going to lecture me, too?”

“I know better than that.” Islen couldn’t hear Bethany laugh, but she felt it. “I tried it with Marian.”

“Yes, but I notice she doesn't touch the stuff.”

“That’s not my doing.” She said. “The only thing that got her to stop was, well...needing to.” She tilted her chin down, pressing it into the crook of Islen’s neck. “You're going to take Tevinter by storm soon, my friend. You know what's more important.”

Islen heard a grunt and, after a few moments, Dorian was standing beside them. “You've made me feel sufficiently guilty and proud in one sentence. I hope you're pleased.”

“It's a skill.” Bethany shrugged.

They walked in silence, Harding leaving them at the door of the Tavern to climb the long stairs of the battlements. Dorian could have taken this way, too, Islen thought with yawn, but maybe he wanted to walk, like Mama sometimes did, at night.

Bethany wasn’t as strong as Papa or Mama and set Islen down when they reached the stairs to the main hall. Islen used her hands to help climb. She didn’t need to, but she was tired and, in her mind, she imagined the stairs as an adventure. Corypheus and the dragon waiting for her at the top, her trusty mages, Dorian and Bethany at her back.

“So how soon do you plan to go?” Bethany gave Islen’s bottom a push, helping her up one of the steps. “Back to Tevinter, I mean.”

“This presumes, prematurely, that we win and _don’t_ die in the ensuing explosion.” Dorian was two steps ahead now, waiting for them to catch up. “Eager to be rid of me?”

Bethany made a hushing noise that sounded more like a hiss. It was the sort of noise Aunt Aveline made often, and loudly, around Aunt Isabela. Like her, Dorian just laughed.

“I know there’s still a bridge to be crossed, and I don’t _mean_ to be melancholy.” Bethany sighed. “But I can see a shadow of myself standing on the other side of it, those versions of us pulling in different directions when this is over.”

They had caught up to him, now, and he put a hand on Aunt Bethany’s shoulder. She had been talking about bridges, Islen thought, but she was so tired the memory was hard to hold on to. At the doors to the main hall, it was no longer Corypheus waiting, but a troll, his shadow long across the stairs.

“Different isn’t bad, Bethany.”

Bethany nodded, smiling at her feet. “I was always the one running from people. Feels strange, having people leave me.”

At the doors of the main hall, there was no dragon or troll, only more light from the braziers and, further in, from the fire where Papa sat waiting for her, it seemed. Most likely he was waiting for Mama, who had been meeting with Leliana all evening.

“All right, sweetheart?” He set down his writing. His hands must hurt, Islen thought; he writes so much, all the time.

“Mm.” She nodded, crawling up into his lap.

She must have fallen asleep there. When she woke up, she was bouncing in her mother’s arms, all sharp angles and the smell of blackberries.

_“...would have gone faster if it weren’t for Sera and that chicken.”_

_“A chicken?”_

_“I’ll tell you later.” Mama whispered, a laugh in her voice as Islen drifted back to sleep. “You should have seen the look on Cassandra’s face!”_

* * *

Islen laid back in the grass of the gardens. The mid afternoon sun made her head dozy and gummed her eyes together against the brightness in the sky. Any longer and she'd fall asleep like this.

She tried to sit up. Sera wanted to play with her, and she had lessons with Merrill. So many things to do, but all she wanted now was to sleep.

“Wake up!”

She shot up at the sound of Kieran’s voice, swinging her head round to glare. He was always starling her. At this point she was sure it was on purpose.

He was only a few feet away, standing between two of the pillars in front of the door that led to the Eluvian. He hadn’t _needed_ to shout. He was definitely doing it on purpose.

“What is it?” She stood, brushing herself off.

“Come here,” was all he said, beckoning. Islen, as she had since meeting him, ignored her gut and followed.

Inside the room, where they had been days before, the Eluvian was lit up like a beacon. In Islen’s mind, it had always looked like this, but she could tell it had shifted. If Mama walked in now, she’d be able to see what Islen saw. She might even be able to hear the same song.

“Look.” Kieran was pointing there, too and walking slowly towards it as if in a trance.

“Wait! Don’t you want to tell your mother?” Islen grabbed his sleeve. She didn’t _want_ to follow that noise. It wasn’t _safe_ , what if she couldn’t find the way back? What if no one knew where to find her?

But she couldn’t let go either. How could she let Kieran go by himself?

Like this, she felt herself dragged into the Eluvian behind him.

* * *

Kieran told her they were in the Fade.

Inside the Eluvian, it was impossible to shut out magic, noise, but it hurt here less, too. The song she heard outside was there too, the one she’d heard before, in Orlais.

“I know. I hear it too.” Kieran was still moving forward, and Islen had to move quickly to keep up. “It sounds like Mother.”

Morrigan had never sounded like anything to Islen, besides a mage. It was Kieran who was odd.

“Well it sounds _dangerous_. I think we sound go back.”

“I'll only be a little while.” He tugged his sleeve away from her grip, and she could see herself. Her own magic, the soft, blue glow that always felt just out of reach, was on the surface here. It was strange because _she_ felt farther away from herself than she’d like. _Everything_ felt farther here. Maybe it was the way the rocks floated. They weren’t supposed to float. Everything felt like a dream, or a nightmare.

Still, she walked behind Kieran at a brisk pace so she wouldn’t fall even even further behind and be lost, as she feared.

There was a large statue, larger than those in Kirkwall and even Val Royeaux. The head was broken, but Islen could still see blue and purple like a bright plant, in the area of the statue’s chest. She imagined a polished piece of armour or a dress made of dragon’s scales.

There was writing. Elvish. Islen could only make out a few of the words. Further down, more had been scratched out.

Had they passed this before?

Islen stopped to inspect the scratches when Kieran let out a shout beside her.

“Grandmother!”

Islen gaped. Kieran had a _grandmother_.

The woman he ran to hug did not look like a grandmother. She looked like the grim statues of Captain Meredith that still stood, half-formed in the Gallows. Mama said the ones that hadn’t exploded in the escape had been torn down or beaten by people with angry thoughts.

But everyone knew the story. _Meredith Stannard went to the White Spire for judgement,_ her thoughts assured her, in what sounded like Uncle Anders voice. _No one ever saw her again. She is a ghost, now. That’s not her._

This time, Islen stared at the woman with almost jealous eyes. She didn’t have a single grandparent.

“Hello, lad.” When Kieran’s grandmother spoke it was with a human voice. But magic couldn’t hide here, and she was not human.

She was the song Islen had been following since Haven, the Breach. The one that called for attention above the rest.

They spoke to one another in low voices, and Islen felt herself shrink, blending into the statue behind her. When she hoped she was nothing but stone and light, Kieran’s grandmother looked at her.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You're Kieran’s grandmother.” Islen answered, slowly. The woman raised an eyebrow. “You’re...Morrigan’s mother?”

“Very smart.” She nodded. “You may call me Flemeth.”

“How do you do?” Islen curtsied. “Flemeth.”

“And so polite!” Kieran’s grandmother (Flemeth, Islen amended) had a sharp, loud laugh. “The Hawkes have come a ways.”

“Do you know Mama?”

“I do.” Flemeth’s smile was as sharp as her laugh. _Sharper_ , Islen thought.

She relaxed a little. Everyone liked Mama. Anyone who didn’t was dead. She couldn’t remember _who_ had told her that, but she remembered it, now.

“Can you show me what it is _you’ve_ brought?”

Islen blinked. She hadn’t brought anything. Just herself and…

“Clever lass.” Flemeth said as Islen held out her hand. Her bracelet still rested there. She bit her lip, holding onto it with her other hand.

“It’s okay. She’s not bad.” Kieran reassured her.

“May I?” Flemeth looked, again, at her wrist.

Islen slowly loosened her grip on the trinket. “Aunt Merrill will be angry if I lose it.”

“Sometimes a piece is all you need.” A long finger stretched out and tapped the glass inside the casing. It glowed with magic, familiar as what she heard in the gardens everyday. “You can tell Merrill that her Eluvian, should she choose to rebuild it, will connect to the Crossroads properly now.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Islen felt her nose wrinkle.

“Islen...”

Aunt Bethany’s shaky voice cut through the air. She sounded scared, but Islen had never been more excited to hear her. Someone _had_ followed them, found them! They wouldn’t be lost forever in the Eluvian!

“Come here, now.” When Islen turned to see her, she was flanked by Aunt Merrill and Morrigan. Kieran noticed them at the same time.

“Mother!” He rushed forward, running to hug Morrigan, who accepted him with open arms.

Her gaze, however, was firmly locked on Flemeth. “Mother.”

Islen felt a hand on her back. When she looked up, Flemeth nodded towards the women.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” She heard Kieran say. He always sounded younger, speaking to Morrigan. “I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time.”

“You, again.” Bethany took a step forward, holding out a hand for Islen and pulling her back, behind her.

“The younger Hawke. Isn’t this a surprise?” Flemeth smiled. “Your family is helpful, as always.”

“ _You_ took the children?”

“Nonsense. Kieran came to see his grandmother, like a good lad, and his friend didn’t want him to go alone. I’m told sense often skips a generation.”

“Kieran is _not_ your grandson. Whatever thrall you have on his mind, cease!”

“As if I were holding the boy hostage. She’s always been ungrateful, you see.” This, she directed to Bethany.

“Ungrateful? I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone!” Morrigan said, jabbing a finger in the air and pushing Kieran behind her as Bethany had done to Islen. “You will not have me and you will not have my son!”

Morrigan raised her arms. Islen could feel the crack of magic before she saw it. It was heavy in the air.

Flemeth sighed, her eyes a bright white. “Be a good lass and restrain her.”

Islen and Bethany whipped around at the same time, Islen backing up quicker as Merrill’s skin cracked under the sight of her magic. She could hear the song play between Flemeth and Merrill, the string of light shine, white hot, as Merrill held Morrigan back.

“What are you doing?” Morrigan wouldn’t hurt Aunt Merrill, or maybe she was startled. Whatever the case, she stopped, her arms falling to her side.

“I don’t know.” Merrill spoke softly, staring at her hands, flipping them over.

“Of course you know. You drank from the Well, did you not?” Flemeth raised a hand. “It took some effort to get you there.”

There was silence for a long moment, Morrigan’s head hung low. She slowly lifted her gaze, and her voice rose with it. “You...are Mythal.”

“You?” Merrill stared between them. “You can’t be Mythal. That’s not possible.”

Flemeth laughed. “Explain to me, dear girl. why I cannot be what I am.”

“Mythal was an Elven god. You, you’re…”

“Human? Not a word many have used for me in a very long time.”

As the adults spoke over her head, Islen detached herself from Aunt Bethany and wove over to Kieran.

“Did you know that was going to happen?”

Kieran shook his head. “I knew she wanted to meet us. And that she wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Is she going to hurt Aunt Merrill?” She whispered. Islen could still see the glow of magic between Flemeth and Merrill. It seemed like the most important thing to ask. He squeezed her hand. “Kieran?”

“I have to go.” Kieran sad, and she felt the tips of his fingertips slide from hers. He moved past her, past Morrigan.

Morrigan was yelling. Flemeth didn’t have to yell to be heard, though it seemed...wrong. The magic in the room was so loud, like a buzz in Islen’s ears now, anyone should yell to be heard. What were they talking about? Her hands squeezed together, nothing but air between them.

Morrigan had fallen to her knees. Merrill and Bethany seemed that far away. _Floating rocks_ , Islen thought, distantly.

She was afraid to approach, to move from her spot, in Kieran’s eyeline. She stared back at the boy until he broke gaze to look at his grandmother.

“As you wish.” Flemeth sighed. The buzzing in Islen’s ears dulled, the white glow between Merrill and Flemeth dimmed. “Hear my proposal, dear girl.” Morrigan stood, wobbled, steadied herself. “Let me take the lad and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with you or harm you again. Or keep the lad with you...and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.”

“He returns with _me_.”

“Decided so quickly?”

“Do whatever you wish. Take over my body now, if you must, but Kieran will be free of your clutches.” She lowered her voice. “I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.”

Flemeth’s face was hidden as she turned to hold Kieran’s hands. An orb of blue light passed from Kieran’s chest to her own and, when Kieran turned back, Islen could no longer hear the old, beaten sounds inside him, like something clawing to be free. She never thought she’d be so unsettled to see it gone. But this was all Kieran had been to her.

Perhaps this was what Papa thought about at her magic. Strange, but familiar.

“No more dreams?” He asked.

“No more dreams.” She smiled, pressing a hand to his back, guiding him towards his mother. Morrigan clutched at him with desperate fingers. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in any danger from me.”

“Listen to the voices, Merrill. They will teach you,” She looked at Islen, “and they will teach her.”

* * *

“Are you all right, Kieran?” Morrigan asked, looking him over. “You are not hurt?”

Bethany and Merrill had given Islen her own once-over, but seemed more worried about Kieran than her. It was an unfamiliar feeling but not unpleasant. She didn’t fully understand what, but something had _happened_ in the Fade.

“I feel lonely.” Kieran said before Morrigan left him to speak with Aunt Bethany.

Islen held out a hand to him. “Want to go to the stables?”

He smiled and took her hand.

* * *

“I met Kieran’s grandmother.” Islen said, roll halfway to her face. Mama and Papa had met her at the stables with all sorts of worried questions about what had happened to her. Luckily, a grumbling stomach had saved her, and they decided to continue their conversation over a meal.

“It was Flemeth.” Merrill stepped in helpfully, and Islen nodded, stuffing the roll in her mouth.

“The dragon-woman?” Mama blinked.

“The same.” Merrill nodded. “And, now, apparently _Mythal_.”

Papa chuckled. “Lady’s got her fingers in a lot of pies.”

“She carries the soul of an Elven God. I imagine she has more fingers than we know about.” Merrill sighed, wistfully. “She called Kieran and Islen to the Fade. She...wanted me there too, it seems.” The last was said with a reluctance that Islen knew meant more would be said when small ears were not around to hear. She huffed. She had heard the whole conversation herself! What grown up things could Aunt Merrill _possibly_ have to tell Mama that she didn’t already know?

“What do you mean, wanted you there? What did she do?”

“Morrigan suspects her hand in bringing Islen here, in bringing _me_ here. Some effort, she said. _Why_ she wanted me to drink from the well, I haven’t the faintest.” Her brow furrowed, as though trying to remember more. “I’m...humbled, but who knows how much of it’s true.”

“That harpy put those, those sounds,” Mama was breathing hard, “those _things_ in my daughter’s _head_?”

“Someone with the soul of a God, could...potentially perform something like a false calling, similar to Corypheus.” Merrill winced. “At least Islen didn’t come to any long term harm.”

“No _harm_! She was out for days! I thought...I thought she was,” Mama sounded rather dangerous. “If I ever meet her, I’ll _kill_ her.”

Papa patted Mama’s hand and gave a small nod, as though encouraging her on. Whatever it meant, it seemed to cheer her.

“It’s not all bad, Hawke.” Merrill clapped. “I have all this new knowledge about the vallaslin, and I think I can help Islen get a firmer grasp on her powers.”

“That’s...good.” Mama sighed, pushing a few of her vegetables onto Islen’s plate while she thought she wasn’t watching. Islen didn’t mind. She liked green stuff.

“How are _you_ holding up, Daisy? Must be quite a shock.”

“I always believed in the Gods.” She said, quietly. “Discovering I’m linked to a living one? That might take some getting used to.”

“If she tries _anything_ ,” Mama reached across the table to hold Merrill’s wrist.

Merrill giggled, swatting at Mama’s hand. _She_ noted the lack of greenery on Mama’s plate, and the clash over poor food choices began, as it did most nights between the two.

Islen continued to eat silently until Papa brushed a hand over her head. “Did Flemeth say anything to you, nug?”

Islen stared at the bracelet on her wrist, shard faintly glowing where Kieran’s grandmother had touched it.

“She told me my bracelet was pretty.”

“It is a very pretty bracelet.” Papa smiled and held out a hand. “Finish your dinner.”

* * *

Islen was watching Mama slide a card up her sleeve when they got the news. Josephine was the one who told them.

Corypheus was dead.

“Great.” Papa sat back in his seat with a thump, laying his cards face down. He pointed to Mama’s hand. “I saw that, by the way. You’re getting slow.”

“I am not.” Mama scoffed, but she pulled the card from her sleeve and tossed it onto the table anyway. There was no point in lying to Papa about cards, even if you were Mama.

Islen said, "That's it?"

Josephine sat next to her. “That’s it.”

The image of Corypheus, the dragon, large in Islen’s mind, evaporated in a puff of smoke.

“That's all stories are, when they’re actually happening.” Papa seemed faintly amused at her disappointment. “When I write it down, later, it'll sound a lot more exciting, I promise.”

“And I’m sure the Inquisitor will have her own thrilling account.” Josephine smiled.

Islen pouted. Aunt Bethany wasn’t very good at stories. Well, maybe she’d be better at it, if they were true ones...

“You beat the bad guy, win the day, shout hooray. I’ve played this game before.” Mama pulled the cards to her and shuffled them into a neat pile. “Take a deep breath, Josie. Now comes the _hard_ part.”

Beside Islen, Josephine groaned.

* * *

For how quietly the news passed, the celebration was long and loud. Bethany insisted they wait until the last person was ‘home’, that was back at Skyhold, before the party ended, and so the party seemed to last forever.

Lady Morrigan and Kieran were packed before all of the casks had been opened. Aunt Bethany convinced her to stay for ‘one drink’, at least, and Islen clung to Kieran the whole night.

Here was another friend she would not see for who knew how long. She thought she understood what Aunt Bethany had been saying about bridges and shadows. Islen felt like she’d unknowingly stepped out over a very long one, and somehow avoided all the missing planks along the way. She felt...lucky.

Still, not lucky enough to sway the Lady Morrigan to visit Kirkwall. Kieran did, at least, promise to write.

Solas never came back. Bethany said it was strange, but it didn’t seem that strange to Islen. He was like Morrigan; a wanderer. Like from Papa’s story, _The Sands._...of something. She couldn’t remember the title, but she remembered it had been about a traveler. Probably. He’d tried to read it to her once, and it had put her to sleep, the man in the book walked so much and did little else.

Anyway, Solas was like him. She didn’t think he was meant to stay there, anyway. Cassandra said she was right, and good riddance, though she didn’t sound like she meant it.

Islen _did_ think it was a little sad, not to get to say goodbye.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, nibbins?” Sera sat on the top of the chair next to her.

“I miss Sarge.” Islen breathed hard enough to blow hair from her eyes. It was getting too long again. “And Uncle Fenris and Aunt Aveline and Orana.” She even thought she was grown up enough, now, to miss Aveline and Donnic’s baby a little bit, though she didn’t say this out loud.

She still missed the people the most but there were little things that had begun to sneak in, once Skyhold had started to seem less a magical palace and more a place to sleep at night.

The gardens made her miss the white flowers in Hightown and the big bell above the Chantry. The stalls near the stable only reminded her of how much more there was to see at home.

She wanted to go _home_.

“When are we going home?” Islen asked, later that night.

Mama and Papa looked at one another, as if for help, and both came up short.

“I thought you liked it here.” Mama spoke first.

“I like Kirkwall better.”

“Wonder where she gets that from.” Mama snorted and elbowed Papa in the ribs. He made a sharp noise, and Islen thought he may not have been expecting the blow.

“Well, we haven’t quite finished celebrating.” Papa smiled in a way that meant he was trying to make her feel better. “But I’m sure we’ll be going back soon.”

They didn’t say any more about it until Islen had gotten into bed, and her breathing had leveled off to what sounded like sleep. She was good at it, now; pretending she was asleep in the same room.

_”You look a little overwhelmed.”_

_”I know you want to go home too, Varric.”_

_A scoff. ”I’m fine wherever. Just...no more caves. And preferably not the desert.”_

_”Or the coast.”_

_”Oh, forgot that one. Let’s avoid that, yes.”_

_A laugh. “But wherever is fine.”_

_”We’ll stay as long as Sunshine needs us.”_

_”Islen needs us. Kirkwall needs us. I’m sure Aveline will have **loads** for us to do when we get back. The Inquisition can use us there, if it wants.”_

_”Now that’s a thought.”_

_Shifting, then quietly: “You were right, before. Bethany’s...responsible now. She’s a leader. And she’s **good** at it.” A laugh. “Really good. Better than me.”_

_A sigh. ”Come on, Hawke...”_

_"No, no, I mean it. I couldn’t do something like this. I don’t **want** to.”_

_”That’s a good thing.”_

_”I know, I just...I don’t think she needs me anymore.”_

_”Oh please, she’ll always need you-”_

_”You know what I mean, Varric.”_

_”Yeah, I know.” Silence. “So what do you want to do?”_

_”I think...I want to tuck our daughter into her own bed."_

_”Then let’s go home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short epilogue to follow!


	7. Chapter 7

**2 years later**

_Kieran,_  
 _I am nine today. Thank you for the pen and the ribbon. It would have been a better gift to see you._  
 _Thank you for asking after Mama and Papa. The title, ‘Viscount’ suits Papa well. He does what he always has, only he’s now able to keep a better eye on what Mama is doing. Mama looks at him like she’s won some sort of bet._  
 _She has returned from her campaign with the Prince, in the East, and seems settled for now. We are packing to go to the Winter Palace to see Aunt Bethany this spring. I hope to see you and Lady Morrigan there...?_  
 _The others are well. Aunt Merrill says that Orana’s clinic in Wildervale is flourishing, and Aunt Aveline’s paying a lot more attention to the Alienage (one of the kids, Tyrmin, said a lot of elves have gone missing lately). The baby can speak now, at least, though it doesn’t say anything interesting._  
 _My studies continue, thank you. Merrill is still my ghi'lan, but I study with everyone now. Maps with Aunt Isabela (though she mostly tells me what the funny shapes are) and medicine with Uncle Anders. Isabela had a broken leg that he wanted me to set to rights but I couldn’t...or I didn’t want to._

Islen paused, remembering her hand in her mother’s stomach. It was still a memory she shied away from, but Mama was awake now, and _she_ had done it. 

Some part of her felt good about that.

_Uncle Fenris was able to. I helped. I told him the theory, from my last letter, that he put me in Mama with his magic. That it must have been how I got inside._

Islen huffed, blushing at the memory.

_What I mean is: you don't have to coddle me anymore. Uncle Fenris turned green and Aunt Isabela told me the **real** way babies are made. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just...clued me in. I looked like an idiot!_  
_And, no, Emmy has not written since the last time we exchanged letters. Have you heard from her since? She couldn't tell me where she was, but I told her about the Winter Palace as well. I know her mother and father are strong, but I worry._

“Islen!” Mama’s voice called from the top of the stairs. Sarge’s head raised from Islen’s lap, bumping her hand away from the paper. “We’re waiting on _you_ , pip!”

“Coming!”

_I hope you and your mother are safe and warm. Visit Kirkwall soon._  
_Lady Islen Tethras-Hawke_  
_P.S.-Attached is the cheese I know you secretly like. I’ll know if you haven’t shared it with your mother._  
_P.P.S.-You can still call me Islen. Obviously._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all folks! Thanks for sticking with me through Islen’s telling of Dragon Age: Inquisition and for all the kind words along with way <3


End file.
